


The Voice of a Smaller God

by trajektoria



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Adult Content, Angst, Bullying, Child Abuse, Child Death, Distressing imagery, Family Issues, Gore, Guilt, Homophobia, M/M, Madness, Minor Character Death, Monsters, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Regret, Scott Whump, Sexual Themes, Silent Hill - Freeform, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2018-12-08 14:08:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 53,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11648133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trajektoria/pseuds/trajektoria
Summary: In my restless dreams, I see that town. Silent Hill.Reyder Silent Hill AU.  A few months after the fateful confrontation with Sloane Kelly when Scott Ryder shot at Reyes Vidal – his lover and the infamous Charlatan – he suddenly gets an email from him. Reyes is waiting for him in a place called Silent Hill and urges him to come and find him. Will Scott, broken and full of regret, be able to reunite with his past love or is there something more sinister at play?It is not necessary to know anything about the Silent Hill series to follow the plot and enjoy this fic. However, be mindful that this is a psychological horror story, dealing with distressing imagery, dark themes and adult content. Scott is in for quite a journey and so are the readers. Keep the tags in mind but also remember that there is often a reward at the end for all the suffering.





	1. The Message

**Author's Note:**

> I've had the idea for this fic for quite a while and I'm very excited to finally be able to present it. This will be a long story, probably the longest and the most mature I've ever written. As of now, the whole story is plotted out and eight chapters are finished. More on the way. Let me know what you think of the story, I love to hear your comments. 
> 
> Special thanks to [kadarakings](https://kadarakings.tumblr.com/), [sybillspace](http://sybillspace.tumblr.com/), [pathfindersemail](https://pathfindersemail.tumblr.com/) and [captainjennhart](http://captainjennhart.tumblr.com/) for helping me improve this fic one way or another. I'm blessed to have such dedicated readers, I love you guys!

 

_Topic: Waiting for you_

_To: Scott_

_From: Reyes_

_In my restless dreams, I see that town._

_Silent Hill._

_I never wanted to take you there._

_And I never did._

_Well, I’m alone there now._

_In this special place._

_Waiting for you._

_Waiting for you to come to see me._

_But you never do._

_And so I wait, wrapped in my cocoon of pain and loneliness._

_I know I’ve done a terrible thing to you. Something you’ll never forgive me for._

_I wish I could change that, but I can’t._

_I feel so pathetic and powerless laying here, waiting for you._

_Every day I stare up at the cracks in the ceiling and all I can think about is how unfair it all is._

_I think about all that could have been._

_Different choices, different paths, ones that lead us away from that town._

_My lies and your bullet shattered everything we had._

_Is there anything left?_

_I’ve missed you terribly._

_But I’m afraid, Scott, afraid that you don’t want to see me after all._

_I don’t know if you hate me or pity me. Or maybe I just disgust you._

_I’m sorry._

_When you shot me in the back I just didn’t want to accept it, I couldn’t._

_I felt betrayed._

_I sent you that bitter email._

_I understand if you hate me._

_And I think a part of me hates you too._

_Just as another part won’t ever stop loving you._

_Even though our life together had to end like this, I wouldn’t trade it for the world._

_We had some wonderful times together._

_Well, this email has gone on too long, so I’ll say goodbye._

_I can’t ask you to remember me, but I can’t bear for you to forget me._

_These last few months… they were hard._

_I’m so sorry for what I did to you, did to us._

_You’ve given me so much and I haven’t been able to return a single thing._

_That’s why I want you to live for yourself now._

_Do what’s best for you, Scott._

_Whether you want to see me, or cut me off completely, I’ll understand._

_Scott…_

_You made me happy._

_With you, I felt like someone._

_I’ll never forget you._

_Reyes_

 

Since receiving that email twenty minutes ago, Scott had read it at least a dozen times, committing it to everlasting memory. The words reverberated through him, reaching the very core of his soul. His eyes were burning. From staring almost unblinkingly at the terminal screen? From halting tears, his fingernails digging hard into his flesh? He wasn't sure.

Six months without anything, aside from the email right after the cave that hurt more than a dagger piercing his heart. Nothing. He’d tried looking for Reyes, did everything in his power to find him, to apologize, to make sure that the man was alive. But there was nothing. No information, no sightings, no nothing. Only rumors, very conflicting, but most of them claiming that the Charlatan didn't survive the shot in the end. Everyone kept telling him that Reyes was dead, but he didn't want to listen. It couldn't be true, it simply couldn't.

And now this.

Scott closed his eyes. That was all it took for him to be transported back to that cave. The showdown with Sloane Kelly. Everything still felt so real, so raw, as if it had happened seconds, not months ago.

Reyes's reveal as the Charlatan. The bitter feeling of betrayal, of being lied to and used to further his agenda. Sniper rifle trailed on Sloane. Scott didn't think in that moment, his damn stupid heroism overriding every shred of sensibility. He saved her like a fool, getting her out of the harm's way. She shot at Reyes and demanded for Scott to do the same. And he, riding on a high of adrenaline and fury... he did it. He pulled out his gun and shot Reyes in the back as the man dashed to the shuttle to save himself. Shoulder or lungs, Scott wasn't entirely sure. The bang, the spray of blood, the Collective thugs running headfirst to save their leader. Scott stared at the unfolding scene in silence, horror spreading through his body. The pistol fell from his numb fingers, as he slowly began to realize what had just happened, what he'd just done. His eyes locked briefly with Reyes’s as he was being carried away to the shuttle.

The look of disbelief, pain, disappointment, anger. And so much sadness.

Sadness that haunted Scott to this day. Because he felt exactly the same.

The sadness of your future slipping out of your grasp because of one mistake. One fucking mistake.

The Pathfinder hid his face in his hands, getting himself together. During these months he had aged twenty years, or so it felt. He heard that grief and regret could do that to a person. Was that what had happened to dad, what destroyed him? Scott understood him a little better now. Maybe they had more in common than he’d thought. It simply required a tragedy to see it.

“SAM? What do you know about this _Silent Hill_?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“ _The data are not easily available, Scott. I had to reach out to angaran database and decrypt a lot of files to find even a trace of this phrase._ ”

“Do you think I care how you obtained the information?” Scott snapped with vitriol.

“ _I am sorry, Pathfinder. I understand you have been experiencing emotional turmoil since the shooting of Rey–”_

“Just fucking tell me.”

A beat of a pause.

“ _Very well._ ” If he didn't know any better, Scott would think that SAM was offended. He really hoped that wasn't the case. The last thing he needed was a moody AI in his head, as if he didn't have enough problems already. He had little patience and sympathy left for people's bullshit. AIs included. “ _Silent Hill is the name of an angaran settlement and research facility on the planet called Alessa._ ”

“Never heard of that planet. Where is it?”

“ _It's in the Samael system, currently right in the middle of the Scourge. Extremely remote location and most likely just as dangerous. Visits are not advisable_.”

Why would Reyes be there of all places?

“What was that facility researching?”

“ _Unknown. No data available on whether it is still operational or not._ ”

Scott ran his hand through his hair and stood up from the chair. He wasn't hopeful, no. He no longer dared to allow himself such emotions. But that email... it was something. A possibility to push his life forward, to unearth it from the rut of anguish he had been stuck in. He had to follow through, he simply had to.

“Doesn't matter. We just need to check it out by ourselves.”

“ _Pathfinder, may I suggest cau–_ ”

“You may not,” Scott cut him off curtly, leaving his quarters on the Tempest. SAM didn't try to continue the conversation. At least he was learning to leave him alone.

Scott walked straight to the ladder, although instead of using it, he just jumped up using his biotic powers. His crew walked about the ship, seemingly minding their own business. But Scott could sense the glances they cast him, and he could almost feel the conspiratorial gazes they exchanged among themselves. Their loyalty was unwavering, of that he was certain, but a stench of unrest started to permeate the ship. They disagreed with his decisions, that much was obvious. Too ruthless, uncaring, he heard them whisper. Not that he cared. He was the Pathfinder. The burden of choices was his. Where were they and their high horses when he put a bullet in Reyes’s back? No one had stopped him then, no one would stop him now.

Without a word, Scott moved to the bridge and swiped his hand across the sensor at the end of the platform, opening up the map of the galaxy. The whole cluster unfolded before his eyes. All the places he could go, all the people that counted on him, thousands of possibilities. And only one worth his effort.

“Where are we going, Ryder?” asked Kallo, attempting a friendly tone.

Scott ignored him. He flicked his fingers, moving the map to locate the sector SAM had mentioned. His eyes poured over the points marking known planets, probes or asteroids one had to be careful about. There was nothing here indicating the Samael system. Uncharted territory, for humans at least.

“SAM, show me where it is,” he demanded.

“ _Of course, Pathfinder._ ”

A small, white dot started to blink among the wisps of the Scourge. Scott touched it and zoomed in the image. Yes, now he could see a small planet there. Almost impossible to notice if you weren’t specifically looking for it.

“Kallo.”

The salarian jumped in his seat at the sudden address.

“How long would it take us to reach that planet?” Scott asked.

 “I estimate…” The pilot checked something on his console. “At least six or seven hours. Probably more. But–”

“Make it five.” Scott turned on his heel without deigning to look at him.

“Getting close to that planet will be very dangerous,” said Suvi. “What’s in there, Scott?”

He looked at her with disapproval.

“Don’t forget your place. You’re here to fly the Tempest, not ask questions.”

Suvi’s lips tilted downwards as if his words truly hurt her. Seeing the sadness on her face made him feel like an utter asshole. Well, fitting, since he was exactly that. And worse. He deserved to be hated.

“Understood, Pathfinder,” she said calmly, returning to her calculations.

Scott pretended not to see tears glistening in her eyes.

Walking off of the bridge, he pulled up his omni-tool and pressed a few buttons, connecting himself to the Tempest’s com system.

“Everyone but the pilots into the conference room. Now!”

At this hour, most of the crew were lazing about in the kitchen or going about their business in the recesses of the ship, so he reached the room first without bumping into anyone. To their credit, everyone materialized almost immediately where he’d summoned them.

Facing his squad, arms crossed on his chest, Scott felt uneasy. He didn’t like the way they were all looking at him. As if he were a bottle of nitroglycerin, needing only a little shake to explode. They didn’t trust him like they used to anymore, perhaps didn’t even like him anymore. Before, he would have told a joke, dissolved all this tension and reassured them in one light-hearted sentence . Now, there wasn’t any joy left in him to even try.

“Okay, listen up,” he started the briefing without any pleasantries. “In about five hours we’re docking on a planet called Alessa. There's a research facility there – Silent Hill. It’s reported to be angaran, so I want to take Jaal with me. And…” He paused, giving himself a moment to think, as his eyes scanned the crowd in front of him. Who else should he pick, what kind of skills would be needed? Hard to prepare for the unknown. Still, bringing a scientist to a research facility seemed like a smart move. Especially one that boasted biotic powers in case of any trouble. “…Peebee. The rest will be on stand-by, ready to move in if we need back-up. We won’t be taking the Nomad, but I want it on stand-by as well. Med bay needs to be ready to take in any injured at a moment’s notice.”

Gil and Lexi both nodded, understanding what was expected of them. Good, no pointless discussions or reservations.

“What’s in that facility?” asked Peebee. “Some rem-tech?”

“It’s not relevant,” replied Scott brusquely. As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized his mistake. The atmosphere in the room changed, suddenly filling up with protest and dissent.

“No, that’s not how we’re playing, mate.” Liam pointed a finger at him, a clear indication of how angry he was. “Our asses are on the line, we need to know what we’re walking into.”

Trust truly was a melody of the past.

“You’re not even on the team, so shut up.”

Another terrible decision. One of many so far.

“But I am,” Peebee cut in. If someone as flippant as her was annoyed with him, that was a measure of how badly he had messed this up. He was beginning to see the pattern of his failures. “And I want to know why we are going there.”

“Me too, Ryder.” Jaal supported her.

Scott looked at them with fury born from self-loathing.

“I’m the Pathfinder! You do as I say!”

“We’re your team, not your slaves,” Liam pointed out. A few heads bobbed in agreement.

Scott clenched his fists. He really felt like punching something. Or someone. Did his dad have to deal with this much bullshit too?

“You know what? Fuck you, I don’t need you. I’ll do this alone.” He stormed out towards the stairs, but Drack stepped forward and blocked his way.

“Move!” Scott barked, looking up at the krogan’s face, not at all intimidated by his imposing figure. “Get out of my way.” A ball of biotic energy started to pulse viciously on his palm.

Drack smirked, as if amused by the human’s attempt to be threatening.

“What are you gonna do with it, kid? Tickle me?”

“I will wipe the floor with you and hurl you to the bridge, I swear to God,” he said through gritted teeth, the ball of biotics growing bigger.

Everyone seemed to forget how to breathe. The tension was deafening as Scott and Drack glared at one another. A mere spark could unleash the inferno of violence and hatred. No one dared to speak a word.

Except for one.

“ _Pathfinder received an email today, in which Reyes Vidal stated that he’s waiting for him in a place called Silent Hill._ ”

“SAM!” Scott cried out in horror, losing concentration. The biotic energy dispersed.

“ _I am sorry, Scott, but further escalation of this conflict would have had disastrous consequences. My intervention was necessary._ ”

Scott bit his lower lip, humiliated. He could sense the awkward shifting, the exchange of furtive glances, of pity. Even Drack stared at him with sympathy. As if any of them truly cared whether Reyes lived or died. They’d probably cheered when he shot him. Scott swallowed the bitter taste on his tongue.

“You know that this might be a trap?” asked Vetra, finally breaking the heavy silence.

“Anyone could have sent that email,” added Jaal.

“ _The email has been sent from the same omni-tool as all the previous messages from Mr. Vidal._ ”

SAM's explanation didn’t assuage their doubts.

“But we still don’t know if it was him who wrote this message. Someone might be using his omni-tool to get to you.” Lines of worry appeared on Cora's usually so stoic face.

“I don’t care. I’m going to check it anyway,” Scott retorted blankly. That was all he had to say about this, there was nothing left to add.

Another batch of exchanged glances. His team had become quite proficient at discussing him nonverbally. Some kind of decision seemed to have been reached.

“Alright then. Time to grab our gear,” said Liam, almost cheerily. “People, we have a mission now!”

In genuine surprise, Scott watched how his team slowly scattered without another word. Just like that. The thing seemed to be settled. Scott didn’t quite understand it, but what mattered was the end result.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He felt tired. And angry at SAM for outing him like that. Who could he trust if not the voice in his head? Fitting, since he couldn’t trust himself either.

“Scott?”

Scott jumped and looked over his shoulder. He thought that everyone had left already, but he was wrong. Lexi was still there. And stared at him expectantly.

“Yeah?”

“Can we talk? In private?”

“About what?”

“You.”

Scott blinked.

“If this is yet another–”

“Scott, please.”

He recognized that tone of voice. The same his mother used whenever she was worried about him. Man was defenseless against certain kinds of emotional warfare.

“Fine,” he said. “We still have a few hours till arrival, so I can spare a minute or two.”

Lexi nodded with gratitude and beckoned for him to follow. She led him to the med bay, her own kingdom. On the way there, Scott heard the commotion in the crew’s quarters. They were really preparing for the mission, it seemed.

Once inside the med bay, Lexi locked the door behind Scott, and stood in front of him. The silence stretched between them as she simply looked at him, her eyes clouded with the memories of much happier past.

“You have changed so much, Scott,” she said with a sigh, almost wistful. “I can barely recognize that happy-go-lucky, idealistic young man in you anymore.”

Scott rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to deal with this crap.

“Really? You’re psychoanalyzing me again?” he sniggered. “Want to prescribe therapy for my anger issues?”

“No. Anger is a secondary emotion. A symptom, not a cause.” She shook her head. “Besides, I’m not speaking to you as your doctor, but as a friend. And I’m simply worried about you. Because you’re hurting, Scott. The pain, the guilt, and the regret are so raw that you cannot bear them. And you’re hurting everyone else around you to punish yourself even further.”

“Punish myself?”

“Yes. For what happened with Reyes.”

Scott felt as if she had slapped him.

“You have no idea what happened with Reyes!” he shouted, but she didn’t flinch.

“I do. And I understand. You are feeling so many conflicting emotions right now, it must be unbearable. Regret is gnawing at you, not giving you a moment of respite. But above all else… you still love him despite everything, don’t you?” she asked softly.

Scott should have screamed again. Should have stomped out of the room without looking back. Anything to avoid feeling so vulnerable, so filled with self-hatred. The words from Reyes’s email kept trailing through his mind, seemingly on repeat.

 _Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you_ …

His shoulders sagged and his gaze dropped to the floor.

“I need to know if he’s alive,” he said quietly, without prompting, tired of keeping it all to himself. The dam of self-control crumbled to dust. “I need to know if he’s fine. I need to apologize for what I’ve done. That’s all. That’s all I need. He may hate me, he may hurt me, he may even kill me. But I need to tell him to his face how sorry I am.”

Lexi listened without interruption. When he was done, she simply nodded. Her hand rested briefly on Scott’s shoulder, giving it a gentle, comforting squeeze, before she took it away.

“Then I hope you find what you need in Silent Hill.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The letter at the beginning is of course based on Mary's letter from Silent Hill 2 with some minor changes. It's my favorite game in the series and that will probably show in the fic.  
> If you want some music to put you in the right mood try [ Mary Elizabeth McGlynn - Farewell](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6IrsdIPWwBU). I love this song.


	2. The Arrival

“We're approaching the target,” said Kallo, more to himself than anyone else.

Scott's eyes were fixed on the windshield, taking in the vastness of space in front of him. Terrifying, unpleasant, deadly. The wisps of the Scourge were spread out before them like some twisted versions of DNA chains. He clenched his hands on the railing so hard that his knuckles turned white inside his N7 armor's gloves, but he hardly noticed the pain.

There, he could see it, the small planet in the distance. Barely more than a tiny white orb, so easy to overlook if you didn't know it was there.

Could it be true? Could Reyes really be there, waiting for him? Why there? Why now? Was it even him? Why did he want to meet?

The thoughts flew through Scott's mind, leaving without a trace. Doubts couldn't take root in his heart. He had to know. Even if all of this was just some cruel ruse, he didn't have a choice. Nothing else mattered. Nothing but pure determination pushed him forward.

“Do it,” said Scott, gritting his teeth.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Suvi and Kallo exchange glances as they fastened their seatbelts. Things were about to get serious. 

“Flying through the Scourge can get rough,” said Kallo, confirming Scott's observation. “You should sit down and buckle up or you might end up flying across the whole ship.”

Scott shook his head, his grip on the metal tightening even more. It would take a crowbar to pry him off. He was so close now, so close to that planet, so close to Silent Hill. And he wanted to see everything, every goddamn second of their approach.

“I don't remember asking you for advice,” Scott quipped in a biting tone. He turned his eyes back to the target. “Full speed ahead.”

The salarian said nothing, but his silence was telling enough. He punched some buttons on the panel, exchanged a few professional remarks with Suvi, and the Tempest sped up.

When Scott was a child, space fascinated him to no end. Together with Sara he spent hours gazing at all the stars and planets and dreamed about visiting them one day, hoping to discover a few more. There was beauty to space with all its marvelous colors among the infinite emptiness. Specks of dust scattered haphazardly across the dark canvas, a gentle reminder of one's own insignificance, but also an assurance that the possibilities are endless.

Even now Scott felt a sliver of that magic, the thrill of the journey and discovery pulsing somewhere in the back of his head, a remnant of much happier, much more carefree times. But at that moment his conscious thoughts were directed towards other things, away from the void’s siren allure. He could think of nothing but Reyes, the still frames from their last meeting flashing chaotically in his mind, his skull echoing with the words from the letter, loud and painful like grenades exploding right behind his eardrums.

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

Maddening words, words that cut like thousands of daggers, mocking him, making him want to howl. Making him want to hope, to let himself feel that treacherous – that _foolish_ emotion, even though he knew full well that there was no hope left in this world, not for him. And yet…

And yet.

He bit his lower lip so hard that a metallic taste filled his mouth, his grip on the railing iron hard. The proximity of the Scourge painted his face and the whole Tempest interior in a sickly orange hue.

Face to face with the cloudy tendrils, Scott knew he should be afraid. Traumatized even, after what had happened at Habitat-7. He wasn’t. The Scourge was just a temporary setback, nothing more, a stepping stone towards a far more demanding challenge.

“Brace for impact, we’re entering the Scourge!” yelled Kallo, punching in calculations with almost manic frenzy. The Tempest jerked, the machinery whirring and beeping. A cacophony of grating sounds, possible harbingers of destruction. Scott held on tight to the railing as the ship swerved and dived suddenly to avoid the worst clusters of deadly mist. One mistake and they could all be killed.

“There!” yelled Scott as they passed another piece of the Scourge. The small, white planet was on their left now, surrounded almost entirely by the orange tendrils. Almost, because what seemed like a corridor of sorts trailed right to the surface. The sight made Scott’s heart skip a beat. If Reyes truly was here, he must have used it to reach Alessa. “The path is clear, go!”

“Understood, Pathfinder.” Kallo turned the ship sharply, making the bile from Scott’s stomach jump to his throat, and charged at full speed through the opening that had presented itself to them. Shades of orange and gold flashed before their eyes as the ship maneuvered, travelling at a terrible speed towards the quickly growing planet. One last desperate push and the Tempest jumped out of the Scourge field right into the planet’s orbit.

Scott let out a breath he wasn’t even aware he was holding. Suvi and Kallo cheered with enthusiasm and relief. For them the worst of the journey was over. For Scott it was only the beginning.

Scott’s attention turned from the window to the galaxy map. He enhanced the image of Alessa, this mysterious white planet which was so far from everything and everyone. A good hiding spot for the Charlatan on the run.

“SAM, do we know the precise location of that research facility?” Scott asked, his gaze moving across the map as if he could scout it himself.

“ _Yes, Pathfinder. I have marked it on the map._ ”

One point on the map started to pulse with a green light. Scott zoomed in. Seemed like a location somewhere in the mountains, possibly concealed. A research facility should have its own landing site, so there should be no problems with the touchdown. And thinking more on that, since the very location of the planet was so remote and hidden, further concealing the base seemed unnecessary. Finding it shouldn't be that hard.  

“Let’s go,” Scott ordered, tapping the map to close it. Once again he turned to the window, observing their descent through the planet’s atmosphere. A hiss of air, flames seemingly engulfing the ship and then everything ending as if it was just mere hallucination. They moved closer to the ground.

Scott didn’t have any expectations regarding the planet, hadn’t even spared one thought to its appearance, but the sight that unfolded before their eyes was… depressing.

The planet was dead, no other way to describe it. No trees, no vegetation, no animals, no lakes. Nothing but a dull wasteland covered in silvery powder, as if someone mixed ash with chalk and scattered it all around the landscape. Once, maybe, it had thrived with lush flowers and awe-inspiring creatures, but the Scourge had erased it all, purged all life from existence, leaving behind only this hopeless desert. Even the sky was empty, overcast completely with heavy, graphite clouds.

The thought of Reyes in this place, his lively golden eyes against the listless grayness, made Scott’s chest constrict painfully.   

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

“How long till we reach the research facility?” Scott asked just to block out his intrusive thoughts.

“A few minutes,” replied Suvi.

Scott fired up his omni-tool and pressed a few buttons.

“Jaal, Peebee, we’re heading out in T-minus five minutes,” he announced and closed the device without waiting for a response. He knew they heard him.

In silence, Scott watched as the Tempest flew across the ocean of ash. Each second brought him closer to Silent Hill, closer to Reyes. Closer to absolution or destruction. Or disappointment, one strong enough to break him if this turned out to be a trap and had nothing to do with his lover. But there were easier ways to kill him than sending him across the galaxy to this desolate planet, right? If someone wanted him dead one bullet from a sniper would do the trick; no need for elaborate deception. No, this was the real thing, Scott felt it in his bones. In his weary, quivering bones, a certainty that frightened, tormented and exhilarated him all at once.

The moment he entered Silent Hill, nothing would be the same again. For better or for worse, that much was obvious.

Scott swallowed hard as he noticed imposing mountains on the horizon, which loomed bigger with every second as the Tempest dashed towards them. Soon he could distinguish shapes of typically angaran metallic constructions built into the slope. Likely these small outdoor buildings were part of the complex, but probably only a small part of it. Most likely the research facility reached deep into the mountains, a true labyrinth of various labs and test rooms.

Scott had no idea what they would find there, but there was no force in the whole wide universe that could stop him from seeing Reyes.

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you_ …

“Landing site,” he said, pointing to a big platform on the right. It was empty. There had to be  more sites on the other side of the mountain. Reyes couldn’t have possibly come here on foot, a ship or a shuttle were the only ways. “Kallo, put the Tempest down, but keep the engines running. We might need to evacuate quickly.”

“Right.”

Scott turned around and left the bridge, then jumped down, disregarding the ladder. He walked quickly towards the cargo bay. The slight bump he felt indicated that Kallo had landed and the ramp would open at any moment. Hopefully, Peebee and Jaal were already waiting for him. He didn’t want any delays.

 To his surprise, not only them but the rest of the team had gathered in the hangar as well. He moved his gaze from one face to another, gathering the pained and sympathetic expressions.

In that moment it hit him. They didn’t really expect him to come back. Maybe they saw the look on his face, the hollowness in his eyes, the silent acceptance of the punishment to come. They saw that Scott didn’t believe that his story would have a happy ending.

All these people. His crew, his friends. All of them so close, so important in his life. All these people he had let down so horribly.

“Um… We wanted to wish you good luck,” said Liam, scratching his head as always when he didn’t feel comfortable. “In finding Reyes.”

Scott’s gaze dropped to the floor. Then lifted it again, his eyes filled with melancholy.

“If I don’t come back… I want you to know that I am sorry,” he said, addressing each and every one of them. “When we started, we had so much hope. A responsibility had been put on me to make this world a better place. But I failed. And I am sorry. Sorry for not being the man I should have been, the man you deserved. I disappointed you. I disappointed myself. And I disappointed those who mattered most.”

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

“H-hey, Scott, don't make it sound like it's the end, okay?” Peebee forced out a chuckle, a poor attempt at their casual banter.

Scott turned his head to her.

“One way or another, it is,” he said. No one replied. He didn't expect them to. There was nothing to say. Except one thing, one thing his conscience, or what was left of it, obliged him to do. “Jaal, Peebee. Maybe it's better if I do this alone. I don't want to put any of you in more danger than I already have. You don't have to come with me.”

“No,” Jaal replied at once, firmly. He never shied away from speaking his mind. “You need a team now more than ever.”

“Yeah. You shouldn't be alone,” added Peebee, sidestepping awkwardly from one foot to the other. “That wouldn't be... good.”

Scott looked at them both and then nodded slowly. He did what he could. He offered them a way out. Now their fate was intertwined with his, even more so than it was before. He had tangled them selfishly into his own tragedy, into this sad spectacle that would unfold. And they were ready to follow at their own peril.

Scott had nothing more to tell them.

“Let’s go.”

He walked towards the now opened ramp, hearing Peebee’s and Jaal’s footsteps behind him. Stepping onto the metal platform, he gave only a cursory glance at the ashen landscape – a still ocean of dust. It was a familiar sort of emptiness, one that already gnawed inside him.

Scott turned around quickly and walked across the landing platform towards the hangar door, a massive metal slab set in solid rock. Right next to it was a keypad and a slot probably for some kind of clearance card. Strange to have that level of security on a dead planet.

“SAM, can you scan the facility? How many people are inside?” Scott asked, staring at the small red light blinking ominously above the door. Was it the fault of an auxiliary generator or was it always like this?

“ _I do not know, Pathfinder. I cannot perform the scan because something is jamming the signal. I am not sure if the interference is due to the proximity of the Scourge or because of something within the facility itself_.”

Great. So they knew nothing.

“Can you at least open the door for us?”

“ _I will try. However, overriding the defense system may take a while._ ”

Scott clenched his jaw. He was out of patience. Nothing, absolutely nothing could stop him now from getting to Reyes.

His forehead creasing in concentration, he extended his hand towards the door. Biotic energy coursed through Scott like a furious, merciless river. He clenched his fist, feeling invincible, god-like, with the unshakable conviction that Reyes was out there, waiting.

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you..._

 The metal groaned and rumbled as it folded in on itself, crushed like a sheet of paper under the immensely powerful, rage-fuelled force field. With one flick of his wrist, Scott tore the mangled door from the mountain and tossed it to the ground, seemingly oblivious to how many tons it weighed.

Jaal looked at him, impressed. Peebee, who knew better the extent of his biotic powers, was afraid. It didn't matter.

“Shoot to incapacitate, not to kill,” Scott said, watching as they readied their weapons. He didn't need one, not when pure energy pulsed at his fingertips, more dangerous than any bullet.

Scott stepped over the deformed threshold and into the facility. Although inside a mountain, it didn't resemble a dingy cave like he expected. The impeccable, sterile white corridor might as well have been located on the Citadel or the Nexus and none would be the wiser. The only difference was the lighting. Not the pure brightness of tube lamps, but the dim, red glow of emergency bulbs, making everything look ominous, as if awash in blood. And the silence, the deafening silence in which the soft tapping of their feet against the tiled floor felt like a rumble of artillery fire.

“It's so creepy in here,” Peebee muttered under her breath, her vigilant eyes darting around. She said nothing more, but Scott picked up on the subtext – _why would Reyes be in this place_? Scott didn't know. But he couldn't forget the e-mail, the tragic picture of pain and loneliness it painted. If Reyes truly was here, now Scott could better understand what he felt, the kind of hopelessness this place could elicit.

“Reyes!” Scott cried out, his heart racing in his chest as he waited for a reply. None came. Just this silence that pierced right through his brain.

“We need to be thorough. Check every room,” Scott decided, stopping in front of the first door. He pushed the button, only half-expecting it to actually work.

But it did. The door opened with a soft hiss. Scott tensed, bracing himself for whatever could threaten them. The room was empty though, save for a vast array of scientific equipment – tubes, microscopes, burners and such. Everything was in good condition, but not used in a long while. A whiteboard on the wall opposite the entrance was covered in various chemical formulas that meant nothing to Scott. A chart showing some kind of flower was pinned right next to it. The plant had been captioned with angaran-looking scribbles, but Scott couldn't be bothered to translate them.

“White Claudia, hm...” Jaal read aloud. “Never heard of it.” 

“Did they research plants here?” mused Peebee.

“It doesn't matter,” Scott interrupted brusquely.“Move. We have a whole complex to search.”

And search they did, traversing through numerous similar rooms, different only in the types of equations written on the boards – sometimes amounting to plans of some mechanical device or enigmatic notes on Silent Hill itself, if Jaal's input could be trusted. But still no people; not even a trace that anyone had been here recently.

With every room they visited, Scott became more and more on edge. The intrusive thoughts haunted him, mocked him, tore at his soul. Finally he’d had enough of it. The next empty lab he trashed with a hateful, biotic tantrum, smashing all the glass and shredding all the machines. A bomb would have been gentler than Scott's fury.

“We need to keep looking.” He was adamant, pushing deeper into the labyrinth of corridors. Jaal and Peebee followed, although he felt their gazes full of doubt pricking at the skin of his neck. But he couldn't give up now, not when he was so close. Not when there was even a sliver of chance that he could find Reyes, maybe even save him from this desolate hell.

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you..._

The next room they entered differed from all the others. It was bigger and devoid of the equipment all the others had.

“What's that?” Peebee asked breathlessly.

Against the walls stood rows of pods, not quite the same as the ones used by the kett or the cryopods of the Initiative, but very close. The same shape, maybe slightly bigger in size, all wide open and full of tangled knots of cables like the suctioned tentacles of some nightmarish monster.

“I'm not sure, but they look like transport pods. Strange ones though,” hummed Jaal pensively.

Scott walked along the empty pods, peering into them. If they were truly transport pods, perhaps Reyes had been brought in with one of them. He needed to find a trace, anything, that would show him without a doubt that Reyes was here. A strand of hair, a whiff of his scent, a piece of fabric from his jacket. Anything.

But there was nothing, nothing, nothing. Nothing save the emptiness rattling in his mind among the waves of guilt and self-hatred.

As Scott looked into yet another pod, a stream of acrid smoke sprayed right into his face, making him jump from shock and pain. He screamed, clawing at his scorching cheeks, his eyes burning and filling with tears.

“Scott!” Peebee and Jaal shouted at once, darting towards him.

The door slammed shut, red lights began to flash off and on, as the piercing sound of alarms blared through the air. Lightheaded and feeling sick, Scott saw through his aching eyes how a strange mist seeped inside through a vent, enveloping them. Breathing got harder, impossible even. He tried to use his biotics to get free, but his mind, his limbs, didn't obey him anymore. His head emptied. His knees gave way. Coughing and spluttering, he hit the floor, completely limp and helpless.

Before the darkness and silence embraced him fully, shadowy silhouettes flashed before his eyes, their hands clenching on his arms.

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, wait–_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay, next chapters should appear quicker.  
> The tune for this chapter: [ Franz Ferdinand - Goodbye Lovers and Friends](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lLaKaYyjW50).


	3. Welcome to Silent Hill

Scott opened his bleary eyes, both eyelids heavy and rough as if made of sandpaper. He blinked once, twice, willing his pupils to focus. The view sharpened painfully slowly, like through a faulty lens, revealing a dirty, convex glass right above his face. Through it he could see sky completely overcast by ashen clouds.

Scott groaned, only half lucid, his throat sore and dry. Thousands of shapeless thoughts swirled inside his head, forming an incoherent, vexing hurricane. His addled senses starting up again, he raised his hand to brush some of the haze away from his face.

Only that he couldn’t do it. There was stiffness in his limbs unlike anything he had ever experienced.

Confused, he lifted his head slightly, as much as he could.

His whole body was tangled in cables – hands, legs, torso – allowing very little room for movement. The N7 armor – gone, replaced with a white-blue shirt and white trousers, very much like those he wore on the Tempest. Identical even. Had he worn that outfit underneath the armor when coming here? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t force his thoughts to form a working string.

Scott cried out, but nothing beyond a pained choke left his mouth. The air tasted stale, putrid even. His lungs contracted as he attempted to take a breath. He couldn’t, he couldn’t, he was suffocating, panic filling his mind and rushing through his veins.

His bloodshot eyes darted desperately around him, left-right, up-down, as he tried to understand what was happening to him.

“SAM!” he screamed wordlessly. His call went unanswered, but his memory began to supply the distorted still-frames of the red-lit facility and of all the rooms he'd searched. Then he understood. The pod! He was locked in one of the pods like in a coffin, the heavy lid cutting him off completely from the outside world.

Wheezing short, strained breaths, he pulled at the cables, tore at them until his muscles screamed in agony, clawed at the suction cups that marred his skin with red chaffed splotches. It hurt, it burned, but one by one, the cables trapping his arms snapped with a wet, sickening sound, some kind of vile, yellowish mucus seeping from them like from an infected wound.

Struggling for every breath, fighting the bile rising in his throat as his stomach turned, Scott lifted his bruised arms and banged as hard as he could against the lid, trying to shatter the glass of the visor. Once, twice, ten times, with the full force he could muster until his joints and bones ached,

He screamed breathlessly at the unmoving slab. He couldn’t die here, not like this, not now, no, no, no!

“SAM!”

Nothing.

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

Scott howled Reyes’s name in his mind, wishing he could summon him with nothing but willpower and desperation. The futile plea echoed through the emptiness of his heart. No one could save him. He didn’t deserve saving in the first place.

Shaking in terror, his skin a pale shade of blue from the lack of oxygen, Scott looked around frantically once again. Failsafe! There always was one, there _had to_ be one. He just needed to find it. His numb fingers began trailing the edge of the lid, desperate to locate the only thing that could get him free. His vision was failing him, black, uneven dots dancing aggressively before his eyes. His head felt light as cotton, but the walls of the white coffin seemed to be closing in on him, crushing him, bent on trapping him inside forever, burying him under the indifferent, ashen sky.

His fingers caught on something. A small opening, a tiny hole hidden just below one of the hinges, hiding a soft and round button. Scott whimpered weakly in relief, using the last remnants of his strength to push his fingertips against it. 

The pod whirred, a deep unpleasant sound, reverberating through Scott’s bones. The lid clanged as the locks released their hold. With a hiss of air, the casket opened. Scott sucked in a deep breath, his oxygen-deprived lungs burning as they expanded fully again. But it was a sweet kind of pain, one that reminded him that the spark of life hadn’t yet left his body. For a moment Scott did nothing but swallowed the air greedily, watching without seeing the sky above him, a perfect hue of bleakness.

Once his breathing stabilized, he reached weakly to the cables on his torso. His fingers were chaffed, tingling with exhaustion, but he pulled anyway, freeing his upper body. With difficulty, his trembling hands clenched on the edges of the pod, Scott lifted himself and sat up. The symptoms of near-suffocation had mostly subsided, but he still felt feeble and his head pounded viciously. Rubbing at his temples didn’t help much. He forced himself to focus anyway, to push back the pain somewhere deep in his mind where it couldn’t affect him, couldn't distract him from what was important. Having done the best he could, Scott looked around, trying to understand what had happened.

His eyes widened and his pulse quickened again, fueled by fear that wrapped its cold hands around his throat.

Scott didn’t understand, didn’t know how it was possible. He wasn’t in the facility anymore. No cracked walls around him, no concrete roof above him – he was outside. But the landscape didn’t look like the surface of Alessa, the dead planet ravaged by the Scourge. No, it was… something different.

The first thing Scott noticed was the mist, thick and heavy. He couldn’t see farther than perhaps fifty yards. But what he did see still left him baffled. The pod had been placed in the middle of a road. And not just any road. A proper asphalt one, with white traffic stripes painted on it and a curb. It reminded Scott of streets he'd seen during the time he spent on Earth. But it didn’t make sense, how…?

The road seemed to unfurl on some kind of cliff because there was nothing on both sides of it, no trees, no grass, just an absence of everything only enhanced by the omnipresent mist. Where it came from, where it lead, he didn’t know.

Dazed, he pulled the cables away from his legs, releasing himself fully at last. It took a bit of kneading to get the blood flowing through them, but finally he was able to crawl out of his white prison and stand up on the ground. His knees shook, barely supporting his weight, so he had to lean against the pod not to fall down.

The shock was wearing off gradually and with it the cloud that had enveloped his mind lifted somewhat. Thoughts rushed through his skull in disarray, as he tried to make some sense of the situation he found himself in.

Where was he? Where was his armor? His weapons? What happened? Could this be a dream?

Scott glanced at his fingers, bloodied and covered in a net of cuts from pulling at the cables. He flexed them, the sensation similar to being prickled by a torrent of needles. The pain was real, of that he was certain. His throat and lungs could attest to that as well.

He straightened up, his eyes fixed on the unseen horizon. Then he realized something, an ominous chill filling every cell of his body.

Where were Jaal and Peebee?

Scott turned his head in every direction, as if somehow they had concealed themselves from his gaze when he surveyed his surroundings the first time. Nothing had changed, still nothing but mist as far as his eyes could see.

“Jaal!” His voice sounded frail and pathetic. He would have laughed if he weren’t so terrified. Scott cleared his throat and tried again. “Jaal! Peebee!” A pause, his heart thrumming with horror in his chest like a hammer. “Reyes!”

No reply, no sound, not even a lonely gust of wind stirring up the dust.

With his hand shaking, he tentatively rolled up his sleeve. Seeing that his omni-tool was still attached to his arm and working lit a spark of relief in him. Scott pressed a few buttons so quickly that he nearly missed them.

“Jaal, Peebee? Do you copy?”

 Nothing, no matter how many times he tried.

“Tempest? Can you hear me? Kallo? Suvi?”

Nothing. The call wasn’t going through.

“SAM?” he asked again, holding his breath as he waited for the familiar voice to ring in his head and cover him like a blanket, telling him that everything would be okay.

Scott waited, and waited in vain.

Never before in his life had he felt so alone, so desolate, so completely forsaken. A feeling of dread seeped through his bones, constricting his muscles more tightly than the cables could ever do. His breath quickened as his lungs pumped air, in and out, in and out, in a frantic rhythm of panic.

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

No, no, he couldn’t lose his head, no!

Scott forced himself to steady his breathing. One intake, count to five, breathe out slowly. He repeated the pattern a few times, his fingernails digging deep into his flesh. The pain was something tangible, something to focus on instead of some abstract notions of fear that threatened to overcome him.

“Okay. Okay,” he said, having reached a fragile state of equilibrium. “I can’t stay here. I need to move. Find Reyes.”

Scott's mind cleared. He had one single objective and he had to stick to it. Nothing else mattered. Him being here, whatever this ‘here’ was, changed nothing.

Scott looked around again. A decision had to be made – did he want to go up or down the road? Having no signs, no indication of which direction was the correct one, he could only guess. Thinking too much about it would yield no results.

Scott nodded, as if to strengthen his resolve, and then started slowly down the road, hobbling slightly. The mist was everywhere, always surrounding him like a cocoon, no matter how many steps he took. It wasn’t a natural occurrence. It couldn’t have been. It felt too thick, too foreign, the perfect color of the dead sky above him.

What could be hidden in such mist? Each step he took, each lonely echo his footfall caused, was bringing him closer to the solution of that mystery.

He didn’t go far. What felt like a few minutes march ended abruptly. Scott found himself on the precipice of a cliff. A chasm in the middle of the road. The road simply ceased to be as if some sort of disaster, an earthquake perhaps, have destroyed it in its entirety, breaking the asphalt like cardboard. The mist prevented Scott from seeing the bottom of the pit or the other side of the road if there even was the other side still. For all he knew, nothing lay beyond that gaping hole that seemed to reach into the depths of Hell. Truly the end of the road.

The sight unsettled him more than he cared to admit, but he didn’t let the doubts consume him. Doubts were a luxury he couldn't afford. There was no other choice for him now but to turn around and check the other direction, as daunting as that feat seemed.

Step by step, Scott walked up the road through the constant sea of gray. He wasn’t cold, and yet his skin crawled. Every few yards he had to shake his head and stare at his hands or his legs, since his vision began to drift as the graphite canvas wrapped around this place offered no distractions to his senses. It was maddening, too many thoughts, too many memories, too many regrets shouting in his head. 

But then he noticed something, a shape emerging from the center of mist. Scott picked up his pace, the burning desire to know igniting in his chest.

A sign by the side of the road. Big and rectangular, painted in a faded olive hue with flaking yellow letters. 

 _Welcome to Silent Hill_.

His heart skipped a beat, only to start beating twice as fast. Silent Hill. Not the same as the place he visited earlier. Could this be… Could Reyes mean this place? Not the actual facility, but _this_? Maybe he was never there; he was here somewhere among the wisps of unearthly mist.

Maybe he could be found.

Scott wiped his suddenly sweaty palms against his trousers.  

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

“I’m coming,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. But there was strength and resolve in his gait as he crossed the town line, following the road of no return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tune for this chapter: [ Black Lab - This Night](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_HVpBG0fnqw).
> 
> _I know I'm not forgiven_  
>  _But I hope that I'll be given . . ._  
>  _Some peace..._


	4. The Town from Long Before

Scott didn’t know how much time had passed since he’d taken that first step towards Silent Hill. Minutes? Hours? Eons? Did it even matter? How could time mean anything here? Could it even worm itself through the cocoon of sepulchral mist woven tightly around this lonely place?

Ignoring all the aches and pains in his body, Scott kept walking, fighting a much more jarring feeling of sensory numbness. The silence drummed in his ears, the grayness burned his eyes, the wet, sickeningly sweet smell of putrefaction a persistent presence in his nostrils. The only new sensation was the metallic taste on his tongue. He must have bitten his cheek or tongue at some point without even noticing. Blood offered a much needed distraction, a welcome change from this dull constancy of sameness.

The sense of unreality, the oneiric quality of his surroundings lulled him into some kind of mental stupor. He could have sworn that he was swimming in the mist, flying through the spray of microscopic droplets, even though he saw his feet moving and hitting the ground in a steady rhythm. Like a newborn child, he found it difficult to process the world he found himself in, overwhelmed by its strangeness, inhospitality.

Reyes' words floated unrestricted inside his mind, on permanent repeat, every sentence from that last email wrapping itself around his synapses and taking hold, sprouting roots, deeper and deeper into his core, making their removal impossible. He lived and breathed these words, felt them being pumped through his veins with every anxious flutter of his heart. Could taste them in the blood on his tongue, a sinister premonition of things to come.

And things did come, eventually. Shapes started to slowly tear through the misty shroud, dark silhouettes of buildings. The change in the landscape snuck up on him, catching him unawares. It was hard to believe that anything could actually exist among this infinite ocean of whiteness. Scott felt as if he had dived into a pool of icy cold water that helped waken his listless mind and body. His senses sharpened; his muscles tensed with anticipation. He was approaching his destination, Silent Hill.

_In my restless dreams, I see that town._

_Silent Hill._

Scott didn’t understand it back then, not on the Tempest nor in the corridors of the angaran facility. The meaning of the word “town” had eluded him. He failed to capture Reyes’ reasoning, thinking that it was just a poetic metaphor, an embellishment without much meaning behind it. Nothing he had seen so far in Andromeda resembled a proper town. The outposts or angaran _daara,_ even Aya's magnificent cities were something else entirely, either too big or too small to fit the definition. But now everything was becoming clearer. The town Reyes had mentioned… was truly a town.

Entering down what seemed to be the main road, Scott could see the storefronts, the traffic lights, the lanterns, street signs – all decidedly human, earthly. Everything abandoned, broken down, worn out, covered in a delicate sheen of rust. A town in decay left alone to rot. All the more ominous against the ashen sky and pale embrace of the mist.

One step after another, Scott pushed forward, his head turning from side to side as he took in the sights. There was no one here. An eerie and unnatural silence rumbled through the empty streets. And yet he couldn’t shake a nagging feeling at the back of his mind, a feeling of familiarity, the strangest and most disturbing case of déjà vu.

He felt as if he had been here before, as if he had traversed these desolate streets, looked in passing at the signs advertising various shops. His mind supplied the blurred still frames, too vague to be recognized and categorized, but visible enough to sow the seeds of doubt and unease in his soul.

How could that be? Obviously he had never visited this town, hadn’t even heard about Silent Hill until the email came, sending him across the galaxy to chase after shadows. His treacherous brain was playing tricks on him. That had to be it. The aftermath of nearly suffocating? He didn’t know. Or maybe it was all the fault of the mist, this cursed mist, acting almost like a blindfold – to the eyes and to the mind – concealing and defying all rationality.

Filled with this sense of strangeness, he kept on walking, never trailing off the main road. With every yard he conquered, and each new building painted onto the milky canvas, he noticed the certainty was growing in him that this place wasn’t as foreign as he initially assumed. That feeling hadn’t settled in full, however, not until after another bout of exploring he found himself staring at a two-story, perfectly rectangular building made of red bricks, with disproportionally small windows. The massive wooden doors were closed, dormant, like the maw of a sleeping leviathan. A voice in the back of Scott's head reminded him that he knew this place, knew what it was.

High school.

The very high school in which he’d spent the most miserable months of his life.

His eyes widened in shock. He took a step back, instinctively wanting to put more distance between himself and the horrors of his past.

_No, no, no…_

Memories flooded his mind, taking his breath away, locking his lungs in a vise-like grip. The scenes he wished to erase, events he’d pushed back so far into his subconscious that they felt almost unreal, as if they had happened to someone else. The voices, his family, his teachers, and his classmates whispered in his mind all at once. One giant jumble of shrill auditory scraps.

“ _Dad’s new assignment… just for half a year… chance for bonding… your new colleague from the Citadel… did you bang an asari? …what? You’re a fag? …hahaha… …biotic?... don’t touch me, freak!… …haha… you think you're so much better than us, don't you? ... that will teach you… oh yeah, cry you pussy… …hahaha… pathetic… hahaha… die, fag..._ ”

Scott pressed his hands to his ears, squeezing hard, as if only crushing his skull and feeling the cerebral fluid drip from his fingertips could stop the cacophony of derision. He breathed heavily, shaking, suddenly fourteen again, a gangly awkward teen, drenched in hatred that turned his every day into a black hole of despair and abuse.

No way he was back here. Impossible. He couldn't be back on Earth, he couldn't be back again in this godforsaken town, the name of which he had scratched from his memory with bloodied fingernails.

_No, no, no..._

If Hell was real, it would look like this place.

Scott closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, holding it captive in his lungs for a long while. He couldn't unravel, he couldn't lose his wits, he couldn't be defeated by things that had happened so long ago. The voices held no power over him, not anymore.

If only that was true.

One voice rang out louder than the others, gaining volume and importance, pushing through the sea of ridicule and ignorance. The voice he missed so much, the one he treasured so much. The voice that brought him here.

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you..._

Scott opened his eyes. He had to find Reyes, nothing else mattered. The voices could taunt him, claw at his soul, but they wouldn't stop him. Nothing could. He could bleed, he could crawl, but he would do it. He would find Reyes, he would tell him what a horrible mistake he had made, he would apologize from the bottom of his heart, baring it before him and waiting for judgment.

He would save him, and by doing that he would save himself as well.

Scott took a few deep breaths, trying to clear his mind. The voices faded, a constant presence, but no more threatening than the buzzing of a fly on the other side of the room. He could live with that, he could go on.

But where to?

Only one destination came to mind, one place in this whole goddamn town he had even a fleeting desire to see again.

He let his feet find the way and lead him, as they did so many times in the past when he snuck out of school, praying that no one would follow him. Everything slowly came back to him. The sights he had once seen every day, now distorted and degenerated. The mist restricting his vision, the silence from the absence of human laughter, the emptiness and decay. He liked the town more now than he ever did in the past.

Soon the building emerged from the omnipresent whiteness. The safe haven that never was. The place where Scott spent lonely days and nights, waiting for his father to come back, though he rarely ever saw him. Important business in the nearby military facility, he was always told. It wasn’t long before he grew sick of the excuses. Excuses that weren’t so different from the ones he heard back at the Citadel. Some things never change. Some people never change.

It was a typical suburban house, as cliché as it got, down to the white picket fence and the idyllic facade hiding silent tragedies.

Scott hated it, hated everything about this whole town. Just being there made his muscles rigid, as if anticipating a blow, his jaws clenching painfully, molars grinding together as he used all the little self-control he had left not to scream. He abhorred how unsettled and unsafe it made him feel.

Like the other buildings, the house was completely run down, a pale shadow of its proud, middle-class glory. In fact, it seemed to wear the passage of time even more than the others. It was in ruins, nothing remaining of it but the bare frame and gaping holes for doors and windows. And yet something was moving on the withered lawn. A tall silhouette seemed to walk about and then crouch on the ground, as if examining something. A tall silhouette utterly familiar, down to the outline of the N7 armor, the same armor Scott wore as a means of paying respect.

He gasped, stopping dead in his tracks.

“Dad?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tune for this chapter: [ Bright September - Sleepless Lullaby](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S2aHcANs4GE).


	5. The One Who Didn’t Love Enough

For a long moment Scott just stared, his eyes wide in shock. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t blink, his gaze unmoving from the figure in front of him, taking it all in.

There could be no mistake, Scott had seen his father in armor far too many times to count, ever since he was a little child. That image was burned into his mind, forever unchanging. That proud posture and confident walk, unbroken by the passage of time, the purpose in every step Alec Ryder took, something almost youthful in the way his arms swung as he raced from one place to another. Even now, simply crouching on the ground, examining a stone – or so it seemed – he emanated power and authority of a magnitude that Scott could only dream of having. The saying that leaders were made and not born couldn't be more wrong.

Scott wondered if his senses were deceiving him, mocking him.

It couldn’t be real. It was impossible. His father was dead. His father died saving Scott’s life on Habitat 7, suffocated from the poisonous air of their failed golden world. They never recovered the body, but that meant nothing. Alec Ryder perished that day, not giving Scott a chance to reconcile with him, not even a chance to say goodbye. 

The Pathfinder is dead, long live the Pathfinder. 

Carefully, Scott approached him, the thinning mist revealing more details. What he initially took for a N7 helmetwasn’t that. The realization almost knocked the air out of his lungs. His father was wearing the Pathfinder helmet, the one with the shattered visor. The very one that Scott broke during the fall from the vault, the one that would have cost him his life if his father hadn’t given him his own helmet.

Could this be true? Could his father be alive after all? Could he have survived somehow?

Confused, elated, anxious, Scott stood right next to him.

“Dad?”

Alec Ryder lifted his head, eyeing him appraisingly. Disapprovingly. Yes, Scott knew that gaze, he was familiar with it, the feeling of his father’s dissatisfaction burning on his skin, branding him as a failure. He always looked at him like this. No matter what Scott did, it was never good enough.

It was truly his father. And Scott didn’t know how to feel about it. Relief fought inside his heart with bitterness and resentment, none of them claiming a definite victory.

Alec let go of the thing he held in his hand – a human bone, from the look of it – and stood up. Even though Scott was slightly taller, it never seemed that way. Alec’s personality was imposing, overbearing, always making him the biggest, most important person in the room. An alpha male, while Scott was barely a beta.

Without realizing it, Scott stood at attention, as if facing his commanding officer, not his next of kin presumed dead for so long.

“Who are you?” Alec asked, his tone gruff and devoid of any warmer human emotion.

Scott blinked, completely thrown off balance. Was that a joke? Or rather some new kind of punishment? But Alec looked serious, more serious than he had ever seen him. Could he be suffering from some kind of amnesia?

“It’s Scott…” he said, hating the note of timidity in his voice.

“Scott is dead,” came the dispassionate reply.

“What?” Scott’s eyes widened, his heart skipping a beat. Absurd, beyond absurd, and yet his skin broke out in a cold sweat.

“Slit his wrists a couple of years ago in the school bathroom.”

Scott gasped.

Memories he never wished to remember came back to him with painful vividness.

_Lying on the cold, tiled floor, beaten, aching, hopeless. Betrayed by someone he thought was his friend, more than a friend. But it was all a cruel trick, another way to get to him, to crush not only his body but his heart and his soul. A game of pretend, a kind smile hiding the vicious intent, the hollow effigy of love he was so desperate to embrace as the real thing. The laughter of his classmates still rang in his ears, the spit from the green-eyed boy he wanted to kiss still hadn’t dried on his cheek that was swollen from a punch that landed there first. The girls giggled lewdly, excited and aroused, as the boys hurt him, tore at his clothes, leaving him naked and bruised._

_He was so tired. Numb. He should feel anger or shame or heartbreak. Anything. But he didn’t, he was like an empty shell, a broken mannequin of a man._

_The cold shard from a broken mirror felt so comforting against his skin. He pressed it gently to his wrist, not enough to draw blood, but enough to feel the sting. He finally felt something again. Pain beckoned him, tempting him, promising the ultimate release. It would be so easy. One, two slashes and everything would end in an instant. He’d watch blood leave his body and with it all the loneliness and darkness that pooled in his mind and poisoned him, all of that finally gone. Finally gone…_

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

“No.” Scott swallowed hard, his eyes welling up. He blinked the tears away, barely able to speak through his constricted throat. “He wanted to. But he didn’t.”     

His father didn’t seem to be listening.

“He wasn’t a man, he was a coward,” Alec said condescendingly, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

The words hurt, but Scott turned that hurt into rage.

“He was lonely, depressed and bullied!” he yelled, things his fourteen-year-old self could never admit.

But he didn’t find understanding, he didn’t find sympathy. Alec just shrugged his shoulders. A picture of callous indifference.

“That’s what you get for being a fag.”

Scott recoiled, speechless. Chest clenching, caving in on itself, his lungs unable to suck in air, his heart silent and withering away. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t make a sound, he couldn’t even string words together to form a coherent thought. He just stared, anguished, parts of his soul peeling away and crumbling into ashes at his feet.

“So that’s what you think?” he asked finally, his voice weak, barely above a whisper, deceptively calm despite the ocean of sadness in his eyes.

Scott never got along with his father. Alec was distant, strict, never giving his son the attention and affection he craved. Scott tried, he did his best to gain his approval, but the man was like a marble statue. They clashed, they fought, they argued. Now Scott knew why. Now he knew why Alec always favored Sara, why he never told Scott that he was proud of him.

He wasn’t, simple as that. His own father despised him for who he was, for whom he dared to love. Never blatantly, but those feelings had boiled inside him, finally being brought out in the open after all these years.

Alec stared at him now with visible aversion, hostility.

“Who are you really?”

“I’m…” Scott swallowed, a choked sob dying deep in his throat. He couldn’t break down, he wouldn’t. “I’m nobody.”

“You’re one of them.” Alec took a step closer, forcing Scott to move back. Somehow a hunting knife appeared in his hand, the blade serrated and caked with dried gore. “You’re a monster, aren’t you?”

“What? No! I’m not a monster!” Scott took another step back as his father approached like a predator closing in on its prey. “I’m not a monster!”

“Die!”

Alec swung the knife at him. Scott reacted on instinct, extending his hand, calling upon his biotic powers to push his father away. But nothing happened. There was no familiar tingling on his fingertips, no purplish aura to herald a burst of deadly force. The power didn’t come.

Surprised, scared, powerless, Scott managed to dodge the blow at the very last second, stumbling in the process. Alec – skilled, merciless soldier that he was – took advantage of that. Another precise blow, this time aimed straight at his face, at the eyes. Scott shielded himself with his forearm and screamed when the blade cut deep, slashing through his shirt and his flesh with equal ease. Pain exploded in his brain, the white fabric of his clothes instantly turning red as it absorbed the blood flowing freely from the wound, life escaping him with every droplet.

“Dad, stop!” he cried out like a terrified child. Another attack, another graceless dodge, the knife tearing at his side but leaving only a thin, red line thanks to his quick reflexes. The blade swished all around him, the streams of air Scott felt on his skin a constant reminder how close he was to being injured again. “Dad, please!”

“Die!”

“You saved me!” His voice was shrill, pleading. “You chose to die so that I could live!”

“You are nothing to me!”

In that moment Scott realized that he would die. He would die in Silent Hill, murdered by his own father, who rejected, disowned him. Alec was stronger, smarter, more experienced. More ruthless, when needed.

How fitting that the one who gave Scott life, who saved his life at the expense of his own, would be the one to take it away in the end.

The attacks only increased in viciousness. Alec aimed to kill, targeting vital organs. And Scott was getting tired, tired of avoiding the blows, tired of this struggle that was doomed to fail. The blade cut the fabric of his shirt again, getting ever closer to breaching his skin. Would it be so bad to feel the cold metal pierce his heart, slash his guts, puncture his lungs, cut his throat? A brief moment of pain was nothing compared to the agony of living, guilt and regret and loneliness gnawing at his soul with every breath that prolonged his unbearable existence. Maybe his corpse would finally be granted some peace.

Scott was close to giving up, resigning himself to his fate, when the voice rang out again in his mind, the voice that guided him, that haunted him, that was the reason for all of this. The voice of a smaller god, on whose altar he wanted to pray for forgiveness.

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

No. He couldn’t die. Not yet. He had to find strength to go on, just as he had so many years ago on that cold, tiled bathroom floor. Back then he kept living for his mother and Sara. Now the need to find Reyes pulsed in every beat of his heart, a constant drumming forcing him to march on, soldier on.

Scott stopped thinking, guided by the impulses drilled into his head. Muscle memory developed through hours upon hours of training with other Alliance soldiers. With speed and purpose, he hit the inner side of his father’s wrist hard with the edge of his hand. Alec didn’t expect that, hadn’t counted on any resistance. The knife fell out of his suddenly numb fingers. Scott didn’t give him any time to collect himself. Using the momentum, he grabbed Alec’s arm and threw him to the ground. The man fell on his back with a loud thud, wind knocked completely out of him.

Scott expected him to stand up, continue the fight; he braced himself for an exchange of more deadly blows.

But that wasn’t what happened. Alec reached for his throat and started to wheeze. A terrible choking sound could be heard perfectly through the broken helmet.

“Dad!” Scott fell to his knees right next to his father, staring at him in shock. Alec’s eyes were bloodshot and bulging, his skin a greenish hue, as if the thing killing him wasn’t the lack of oxygen, but the poisonous atmosphere. Just like on Habitat 7. “Dad, no!” Scott looked around for something to fix the visor with, but there was nothing, not even another helmet to swap. Why was Alec dying while Scott was fine? He couldn’t understand, it didn't make any sense.

Alec clawed at his throat, leaving deep marks on the skin, as if he wanted to peel it away. Scott watched him helpless, panicked, not knowing what to do.

“Dad, please, just hold on!”

Alec stopped moving. His hands fell limp to the ground, his empty eyes staring at the dead, ashen sky.

“Dad? Dad!” Scott’s head was reeling, he couldn’t let himself believe in what was in front of him. But the reality hit him anyways, unchanging no matter how much he wanted it to be different. “Oh God. Oh God. I killed him. I… I killed him.”

The truth weighed heavily on him like an anchor pulling him under. He killed his own father. Scott hid his face in his hands. He was not only a disappointment, he was a murderer too. Without him, his father would still be alive. Without him, Andromeda would have the Pathfinder it deserved. Without him, none of this would have happened.

Without him, Reyes’ life wouldn't have been destroyed.

Rocking gently, Scott kept repeating to himself the words that stung and maimed, a mantra of hopelessness.

  _I should have died, I should have died, I should have died…_

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

A bout of static from his omni-tool pulled Scott out of this trance. Startled, he looked at the device. Was someone contacting him? No, there were no incoming calls. There was no reason for the omni-tool to make this unpleasant, crackling sound, and yet it did.

Then Scott heard giggling. A shrill, distorted titter that sent a shiver down his spine, inhuman, cruel, full of derision.

Something was moving in the mist. 

Swallowing hard, Scott picked up his father’s knife from the ground, curling his fingers around the handle so tightly that they started to hurt. He stood up slowly, not moving his eyes from the direction of the giggling. His weapon was ready and so was he.

The laughter became louder, more sinister as the shapes approached. One, two, five, twenty emerged from the mist, a pack of twitching horrors.

Scott stared at them in silence, feeling the courage seep away from his body. These were monsters, there was no other way to describe them, nothing like he had ever seen even in his worst nightmares.

Naked female silhouettes all about 5’4”. Their proportions were all botched up though, very short arms attached to a small torso, but with long, skinny legs and a lean, swan-like neck holding a heart-shaped head. Their faces were blank, no features at all, but with splotches of garish make-up painted on their alabaster skin where their eyes and lips were supposed to be. Ginger, wavy hair reached almost to the ground like a cape. Each one of them had unnaturally large, perky breasts, far too massive not to sag. The monsters massaged their hardened nipples with their clawed fingers as they walked, their hips swaying from side to side in an exaggerated manner, as if they couldn't find their balance in their red high-heels. But the worst was the opening in their bodies, a crack in the flesh running from their necks down to the groin. A vile, wrinkled black hole, far deeper than it should be, oozing greenish puss that smelled of rotten fish. The hole fluttered, opening and constricting, the edges growing sharp-looking teeth.

Scott paled, wincing in fear and disgust. His stomach turned; he thought he would be sick.

The monsters shrieked and started running towards him, their holes expanding as they giggled. Scott stood no chance against them, he knew that. Panicked, he turned on his heel and dashed away from them, as fast as his weak legs would carry him.

Scott heard them behind him, heard their chilling giggles chasing him without respite. He didn’t care where he was running, he didn’t pay attention to the street names, he hardly noticed the buildings he was passing by. What mattered was to escape, break free from their laughter, their vile bodies and their disgusting stench. The omni-tool continued to produce jarring static that only increased his fear.

He reached a dead-end. If it weren’t for the mist, he might have noticed it sooner. Now it was too late to turn back. He spun around from the brick wall to face the monsters again. They were there, slowing down but not stopping, knowing that he had nowhere else to run.

Scott raised his knife in a pathetic attempt to defend himself. Once again he tried using his biotic powers, once again he called out to SAM for help. Nothing. Only him and the monsters, wanting to taint him, devour his flesh, suck him into their noxious holes.

He looked around in panic, desperate to avoid their clutches. The wall was too high to climb and too sturdy to destroy. But maybe, just maybe, not all was lost yet.

A manhole, just a few yards from him. He had one chance. Praying that it wouldn’t be welded shut, Scott ran to it, crouched and pulled with all his might, feeling the monsters almost breathing on his neck. The cover came off easily. Not wasting even a second, Scott jumped inside to save his life, pulling the lid closed after him.

The giggles and the static ceased as soon as the metal slid back in its place.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that [ Theme of Laura (reprise)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JozVfR-XavQ) really fits this chapter.


	6. Darkness Below, Darkness Within

The sewers were dark, so dark that Scott couldn’t even see the bars of the rusty ladder right in front of his face. A truly unwelcoming place where the overwhelming stench of putrefaction assaulted his nostrils, pushed into his lungs and to his stomach violently, making him want to retch.

Scott coughed, gagging, and quickly pulled the hem of his shirt over his nose and mouth. The cover didn’t do much to block the foul odor. Maybe even made it worse with the added whiff of the dried-up liquid that had soaked into the fabric during his struggle to free himself from the transportation pod.

Scott hissed as he accidentally put too much pressure on his injured arm, feeling a new wave of blood seeping from it. He’d almost forgotten about the wound during his mad chase through the streets of Silent Hill, but now the pain came back with a vengeance. The pain in his arm and the pain in his soul.

He killed his father.

_I should have died, I should have died, I should have died…_

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

Scott swallowed the bile rising in his throat. Carefully, he climbed down the ladder and stepped onto the slimy concrete floor. He needed to stop the bleeding and protect the wound the best he could from all the bacteria swarming in this place. If it wasn’t already too late for that.

The darkness should have dispersed a little as his eyes adjusted to the absence of light, but it wasn’t so. He still couldn’t see anything, he couldn’t even differentiate between the paler and darker hues of blackness around him. Like a black hole, it seemed to devour any trace of luminescence.

On edge, Scott reached to his omni-tool and blindly pressed a few buttons with his shaking fingers. The device fired up, its sudden orange glow bright like an exploding sun among the sea of darkness. Squinting and blinking away tears, Scott managed to find what he was looking for – the flashlight app. A focused beam of even more intense light tore through the nothingness around him, finally letting him get his bearings and scout his surroundings. 

He almost wished he hadn’t done that.

The sewers were just as decrepit as the rest of the town, if not worse. Concrete walls – moist and dripping with filth, just like the uneven floor of an appalling brownish color as if  it had soaked up too much waste, overflowing and ready to burst. Right next to the narrow path was a river of sewage. No, not river – a pond. Stale, sickly green, reeking of mold and decomposition. Various shapes, big and small, floated on the surface. At first Scott thought them to be trash, like broken bottles or old tires. Then he made a mistake of looking closer.

Rats. Most of them long dead but some still twitching, some chewing on their fallen brethren to fill their stomachs with putrid flesh, eyes flashing red with insanity bred from hunger. Too starved to move or make a sound, they just looked at him, mute and accusing.

Scott winced in revulsion, taking a step back on instinct. His knees seemed to become weaker, his head lighter. He shook it, breathing in deeply through the fabric to regain some semblance of control. Fainting here would be a very bad idea, he couldn’t allow himself such weakness, not if he wanted to live. Not if he wanted to find Reyes.

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

He needed to get out, take the mists of Silent Hill into his lungs again. Perhaps the monsters above would have gone by now. 

But first, his wound. The cut sleeve offered some modicum of protection, so Scott decided not to make things worse by removing it, especially in such a contaminated area. Instead, he cut his other sleeve off with the knife, dividing it into two strips. Using his teeth and his free hand, he wrapped the makeshift bandage around the injury. That should at least staunch the bleeding. It had to do for the time being. There wasn’t much else he could do. The pain was bound to dull with time.

The pain in his arm, at least.

He still couldn’t believe that his father did this, that he’d attacked him, wanted to kill him. The things he’d said seemed so unreal. The whole scene seemed unreal. The wounds he left and the scars he reopened were real enough though.

There was no time to think about it right now. He needed to focus.

Gritting his teeth to ignore the throbbing in his forearm, Scott climbed back up the ladder. His sweaty hands stuck to the bars, leaving a sheen of rust and something even more vile on his skin that he didn’t want to identify. He stopped near the cover and listened, dreading to hear the shrill titter of the monsters again. But he heard nothing. Which in itself didn’t mean anything. He had to take a peek and see for himself if they were really gone.

Swallowing hard, he pushed the manhole upwards.

It didn’t budge.

Scott’s heart sank in dread.

“What the hell… no!” He applied more force, using his shoulder. Nothing. He banged against the metal over and over again, his fear and frustration growing with every hollow sound his fists produced. How was this possible? A string of explanations went through his head, becoming more and more implausible. The most likely was that the monsters were standing on top of the manhole, their weight pressing it down. Was that coincidental or deliberate to stop him from coming up?  

And, more importantly, was he trapped here? Here, in this hellish sewer?

That was a possibility he didn’t want to entertain. Not if he wanted to keep his wits about him, dwindling at an alarming rate as they were.

Scott walked down the ladder and considered his options. There weren’t many and each of them worse than the last, but they boiled down to virtually two: he could either stay here or go deeper into the underground complex. 

Staying, although probably safer, wouldn’t achieve anything. The monsters might never leave, so all the patience in the world would do him no good. The only viable alternative, reluctant as he was to admit it, was to throw himself into the unknown and try to find another way out.

With a last look at the manhole, some part of him still hoping that it would magically open, Scott took a few uncertain steps down the concrete pathway, his omni-tool lighting the way. He kept the knife in his hand, more to boost his courage than actually believing that a single blade could protect him. He wished he had a real weapon, an assault rifle, a shotgun or even just a pistol.

And he wished he had his biotics back.

Why didn’t his powers work? – he wondered. He tried summoning the purplish energy to his hand but felt nothing, not a familiar tingling in his bones, not even one spark sizzling on his skin. As if something had taken them away, ripped them out of his brain. As if they were never there. As if he had imagined having them in the first place. As if he was going crazy.

If _they_ weren’t real, what else had he imagined?

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

No.

Scott’s grip on the knife handle tightened. His feet hit the floor with determination, but also with caution, as he didn’t want to slip on the wet surface. He tried not to think, to empty his mind of everything, of every shred of doubt, every whispering voice, every fear lying in wait for a moment of weakness to emerge and overwhelm him.

It was hard not to be scared though. He dared to challenge the sewers without having a clue where to go, nothing but moisture darkness and the rats all around him. Would the left-hand rule from the labyrinths apply here as well? He didn’t know. Still, at the first junction he chose a new corridor, the spitting image of the one he started in. If only there were some writings on the walls, numbers, markings, anything that would help him figure out where he was. But if there ever had been, the decay had long since consumed them all, erasing every trace.    

Out of the corner of his eye, Scott saw the shapes on the water in perpetual motion, far livelier than those near the entrance. Skulking, running, pitter-patter of tiny paws against the rotten corpses. He refused to look in that direction. If he did, he wouldn’t be able to block his thoughts anymore. The noises alone made his skin crawl. Distant squeaks, clanks, dripping of water from rusty pipes as it splashed against the stale sewage. And the sound of his footsteps, enhanced and distorted by the echo that bounced all sounds aggressively against the walls.

He really wanted to get out of here. 

The flashlight didn’t do much to disperse the darkness, which seemed to be an entity of its own, always a step behind him, always breathing down his neck. And always full of dangers, untamed, laughing at the pathetic glow of his omni-tool. Behind him, in front of him, all around him, preparing to engulf him and blow out the flickering flame of his life.

Tensed, as if his muscles could snap at any moment, Scott moved forward, ever forward, not looking back for fear of actually seeing things he would rather not. He was already balancing on the edge of insanity, inching far too close to that fine line from beyond which there was no return.

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you..._

He lost track of time. Just as the mist above wrapped the world in its eeriness, bending time and space to its will and rendering them meaningless, the darkness did the same here below. The more musty corridors Scott traversed, the more uneasy he became. Nothing changed around him –  the same filthy walls, the rats, the still water, more goo than liquid. But through that constant sameness his senses picked out the tiny details, the things lurking just on the border of his consciousness. A feeling of dread started to rise in his chest, constrict his airways already obstructed by the noxious air. He felt as if he was stepping deeper into the belly of the beast. His steps quickened, his eyes darted more frantically around, trying to spot a ladder, a way out of this concrete purgatory. Something was very wrong here and he wanted out.  

Why the hell were there no ladders?

The corridor ended but the path continued over a rusty grate suspended just inches above the canal of filth. The light from his omni-tool didn’t reach to the other side, darkness concealing the rest of the bridge.

Scott stopped, hesitating. Everything in him rebelled against crossing that bridge. The feeling in his bones, the certainty that it wouldn’t end well. And yet the siren’s song echoed in his head, drawing him nearer, summoning him to his doom.

And he had to go there. No other choice, he knew. And that realization scared him so much he was suddenly paralyzed, unable to move even an inch.

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

Scott squeezed his eyes shut, cutting off the darkness around him to submerge in his own.

_Are you really there? Are you really waiting for me?_

Scott opened his eyes, blue and empty like the sudden silence in his head. He had never felt so alone.

And yet he had to push through.

Gathering the broken remains of his courage, Scott took a first step onto the corroded grate. And then another, and then another, his feet thudding against the weary metal. The flurry of fur and paws felt much closer than before. Scott tried to keep to the middle of the narrow path, not wanting to tempt fate.

With every yard he gained, the darkness around him seemed to become denser. Denser and muffling sound to the point that he couldn’t even hear his steps or the rats teeming in the water.

Scott looked down, wanting to see if the vermin were still there. Yes, they were, maybe even more than before, but all eerily quiet, their voices swallowed by darkness.

In the stale, greenish water Scott somehow caught a glimpse of his own reflection. It flashed him a cruel smile. He quickly averted his gaze, painfully aware that he was losing his mind. 

The silence rang in his ears. He started to wonder if his hearing had been damaged somehow by the pressure or by some toxic fumes emanating from the sewage. It was unnatural, it was unnerving, it fried his nerves more than he thought possible.

The hair on his neck stood bolt upright. His breathing quickened, even though he tried to remain calm and focused. Despite his gait getting wobbly, he moved step after step deeper into the darkness. He risked a glance over his shoulder, having had enough of the feeling that someone was watching him. There was nothing there, just darkness, oppressive, aggressive, hungry. He quickly turned his head away, shaking, even more terrified than he was before.

And then came the sound. The sound of metal grinding painfully against metal, of gears ancient and abandoned for millennia suddenly forced to operate once again, turning slowly against their will. A screech louder than thunder, louder than thousands upon thousands of rocks crashing down all around him.

Scott jumped, startled, picking up the pace, on the verge of running frantically. The sound died down, but was replaced by a soft humming, too delicate to identify, but unnerving enough to not leave any doubts that nothing good was behind it.  

Something brushed against Scott’s leg. He screamed, pointing the light from the omni-tool down.

Rats. One, two, ten, twenty, a whole swarm running in his direction, but not really towards him. The pests didn’t pay him any mind, just running, escaping, fleeing, parting around him like a river, a total stampede. Their collective frightened squeaks couldn’t muffle his cries of dread and disgust as he tried to kick them away.

Scott wanted to get out of here. Needed to get out of here. Now.

He ran blindly, crushing tiny spines under the soles of his shoes. The crunch of shattering bones mixed with yelps of agony, but Scott was unmoved. He didn’t know from what exactly he was running. From the darkness, from the rats, from the smells, from everything.

From himself.

From the filth that had overgrown his heart and soul.

And then, out of nowhere, Scott heard splashing, different from the sounds of rat blood sloshing all around him.

Stale, noxious water was raising slowly, now slightly over the level of the grate.

Scott cried out, adrenaline flooding his veins as his frightened heart shivered in his chest. Drowning, one of the worst ways to part with this world, feeling your organs desecrated, the foreign liquid killing you from within.

The water reached his ankles now, pouring into his shoes, soaking his socks with the reeking sewage.

Scott wanted to be sick, wanted to crawl out of his own skin, corrupted with filth. He was tainted on the inside _and_ the outside, more monster than human at this point.

The water rose to the middle of his shins. He ran, his heart pounding with terrible speed and force. But it wasn’t enough. No matter how fast his legs moved he still couldn’t reach the end of the rusty platform, couldn't even see it. Was there even an end in the first place? Or was he trapped here in this eternal chase after unattainable goals, after ghosts?

The water reached his knees. Scott couldn’t keep the panic at bay any longer. Trudging forward as fast as he could, which wasn’t fast at all, he kept imagining what would happen to him. He’d drown in sewage, choking on filth and the rat corpses that floated all around him.

He cried out for help, not caring who came to his aid – Jaal, Peebee, SAM, Reyes, anyone. A part of him, the most rational and the most cruel part, knew that no one would come, however. He was here all alone.

The water reached to his thighs. Scott winced at the biting cold seeping through his clothes and the foul, oily stench clinging to his skin.

What would kill him first: toxins, hypothermia or liquid clotting his lungs?

The water covered his waist. Walking became almost impossible. He strapped the knife to his belt, it couldn't help him anyway. Not thinking, acting purely on instinct, Scott threw himself onto the surface and started to swim. His arms and legs moved in a hectic rhythm, so erratic that he had troubles staying afloat. But he pushed through, stroke after stroke, pausing every couple of seconds to sweep the omni-tool flashlight over his surroundings.

He couldn’t reach the bottom anymore. There wasn’t much space left before the water touched the ceiling. Very soon the filth would close over him as he drowned among the waste. A horrible end, but he didn’t deserve anything better.

And yet he wanted to live. Just a little more. Just enough to find Reyes. What happened to him after that didn’t hold much importance.

He really needed to find Reyes.

Finally, finally, Scott saw something that rekindled his spirit. A broken ladder leading up a narrow shaft. His only way out. His only chance before the water swallowed him whole.

Scott got there as fast as his tired limbs could carry him. He could barely feel his arms, too numb from the exertion and from the cold. He didn’t care anymore about the filth all around him, he didn’t care about the smell that covered him in its entirety. His mind was reduced to the most primal instincts of survival.

He grabbed the ladder and lifted himself up, bar after bar. His body felt so heavy, soaked with water, but he kept moving. Water filled up the shaft almost to the brim, a deathly trap closed off with a manhole.

Scott pushed up, trying to lift the cover.

Nothing. Not even a tiny movement.

Cold panic, colder than the water surrounding him, filled his mind as sewage poured into his mouth. He coughed and spluttered, his stomach too clenched to rebel. He had to crane his neck and press his lips almost against the manhole to suck in air, the last traces of it in the flooded sewers. Using all of his force, he banged against the metal, but it didn’t budge.

So that was it then?

The water was everywhere now, an all-encompassing force of extinction. Holding his breath, eyes closed in the filthy soup, Scott kept smashing his palms against the cover, weakening, hopeless. The air burned in his lungs, threatening to tear them asunder if he didn’t let go and take another breath. But there was no air left, just the filthy water and darkness.

His movements slowed almost to a halt, but his struggle didn’t end. He wouldn’t give up, not now. He needed to find Reyes. With his last particle of strength, Scott hit the indifferent metal a final time.

The manhole lifted. Air escaping his lungs, Scott pushed it to the side and crawled out of the sewers. Soaked, exhausted, reeking, he retched on the asphalt, coughing, choking on mist and vomit. Finally, he fell onto his back, breathing laboriously. He couldn’t move a muscle. All he could do was to stare at the dead, ashen sky, feeling violated inside and out, his eyes blank and glassy as he tried to pull himself together.

From what his addled senses could gather, he was back on the main street now, but the details eluded him. He blinked a few times, feeling paranoid that the filth was gluing his eyelids shut. He gagged again, but his stomach was empty; there was nothing left to throw up.

Everything hurt, everything reeked, but he had to push through. March on, soldier on.

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

Still coughing and fighting nausea, he stood up, his knees weak and his step wobbly. He managed only a couple before his legs gave way and he fell down with a thud. He was tired, he wanted to sleep, he wanted to barf, he wanted to peel his skin away until there was nothing left, until all the filth had been scraped clean.

At his side, he noticed a chest. A standard Initiative-issue, like plenty he had seen on the Nexus. It hadn’t been there before, or at least he hadn’t noticed it in his frazzled state. He didn’t question its presence. Something was pulling him to open it, even if only to feel something familiar under his fingertips, something that could ground him in this reality, this reality free of dead rats and putrid water.

Scott was so weak that even pressing the button to release the lock felt like an impossible feat. But he did it and then sat up with difficulty, peeking inside. Right before his very eyes was a fresh set of Initiative clothing and shoes, identical to the ones he had on, a few sealed bottles of mineral water, a few protein bars, a bar of soap and a towel. And a proper first aid kit.

Scott was too exhausted to feel surprised or question anything. He wasn’t even thinking. Like a mindless drone, too numb to feel or care, he unwrapped his filthy bandage without even examining the injury. Wincing, he stripped entirely, tossing the soaked and ruined clothes aside. He took one of the water bottles, opened it and rinsed his mouth a few times, ridding his tongue of the bitter taste of vomit. He took a few sips and then used the rest with the soap to clean himself the best he could. His skin felt raw from how intensely he scrubbed it, but it was necessary to get rid of the stench, as was soaping up his hair. It wasn’t a proper shower, but it would have to do. He dried himself off and put on the underwear, socks, trousers and shoes. Perfect size, felt almost tailored, so soothing in their cleanliness against his chaffed skin. He was starting to feel like a human being again, his consciousness returning slowly and with it the ability to think clearly. At last, he was ready to examine his injury.

The wound looked… worrying. All red and swollen and hurting, still releasing droplets of blood every now and again. Probably infected after everything he had been through in the sewers. He needed antibiotics and at the very least a lot of medi-gel. Stitches too, most likely.

Sighing, he reached for the first aid kit. An old fashioned type, nothing more inside than peroxide, bandages and a needle with thread. Some painkillers too, from the looks of it. Had to do. Gritting his teeth, Scott poured the peroxide generously over his wound. The liquid sizzled and foamed and he kept applying it until there was nothing left in the bottle. Now came the worst part. Scott contemplated taking the painkillers, but in the end decided against it. He needed to keep his head clear. Biting his lip hard to keep himself from hissing in pain, Scott drove the needle through and through his flesh, sealing the wound. It wasn't an elegant job, the row uneven and serrated, but he didn't care about having another ugly scar. The worst he bore were invisible anyway. He wrapped fresh bandages around his arm and put on a clean shirt.

Only then did Scott feel hunger, the emptiness like a sucking void inside his stomach. It forced his hand to grab the protein bars. He ate them all, washing them down with the remaining water.

Yes, he felt so much better now. Stronger, calmer, prepared for whatever Silent Hill had ready for him.

_I’m here. I’ll find you._

It was time to go.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that [ Oomph! - Labyrinth](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n-RyfwnsXhc) really fits this chapter.


	7. Too Little Too Late

Scott, his steps firm and determined despite his sore muscles, walked down the street, looking around, trying to figure out where he was exactly. The buildings he passed seemed familiar; he was sure that he had seen them before. If memory served, he was nearing the town hall.

And just like that a small, unremarkable building emerged from the mist, red brick and white front.

In front of it, on a wooden platform, stood a whipping post almost as tall as the town hall itself.

Whipping post with a figure tied to it.

Scott walked nearer with bated breath.

And gasped as recognition hit.

_No, no, no…_

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

“Reyes!” Scott cried out, voice failing him as he choked on surprise, terror filling his whole being. Of all the ways he imagined their meeting, how hard and soulful, and heartbreaking it would be, he never imagined something like this, never.

There he was, Reyes in the flesh. But this man was a far cry from the sly criminal, the king of life he used to be, as if that person had been completely erased from the fabric of reality. He was tied to the pole, hands stretched so high above his head that his arms were probably on the verge of being pulled out of their sockets. He was half-naked, barefoot, wearing only a pair of torn and bloodied trousers. His bare torso bore evidence of violence, that of an extreme and sadistic kind. Bruises, cracked ribs, raw, open lacerations. The bullet wound in his shoulder, the reminder of their last meeting, still bled. He had a black eye and a split, swollen lip that brought to Scott's mind a recollection of the kisses he once used to plant there. Someone – one of the Outcasts who tracked him down and captured him? – had mercilessly carved the words ‘liar’ and ‘traitor’ on Reyes' chest in violent strokes and put a broken, golden crown askew on his head.

The fallen king of Kadara.   

Reyes seemed unconscious, passed out from the pain. He had to be unconscious because the alternative was too terrifying to entertain, to even form it properly in Scott’s head. 

“Reyes!” he shouted again – his voice hoarse, desperate, breaking – and ran towards him, all aches in his body instantly forgotten, his eyes not trailing away from his past lover, not even for a second. He barely blinked, as if afraid that if he closed his eyes Reyes would disappear like a ghost.

Reyes was here, flesh and blood, his head hanging low. Real. Scott touched his arm gently just to be sure, feeling the damaged skin under his fingertips and the warmth he missed so much. He let his fingers slide up to the man’s cheek, the one that was mostly spared from destruction.

“What did they do to you…” Scott whispered, the guilt much worse than the whole ordeal down below the streets of Silent Hill.  

A cough. A weak cough and he felt a spray of blood on his hand. He didn’t take it away. Stunned, he watched as Reyes lifted his head slightly, as if it weighed a ton. His golden, bloodshot eyes – horrible hyphema in the left one – were unfocused, filled with suffering. But he blinked slowly, leaning into the touch on instinct. Lucidity glinted in his pupils.

His lips parted and moved weakly, but no sound left his parched throat. Scott felt the words on his skin, in his heart, in his soul, rather than heard them through his ears.

_Scott? You’re here?_

“Yes. Yes! I’m here! I’m here, I found you!” Scott replied, the anxiousness making him hyper, words flowing out of his mouth like a river, even if only to cover just how overwhelmed, how shaken from relief he was. Relief and longing that felt like a punch to the heart. All these emotions, swirling like a whirlpool inside his head, mixed with the recurring words, this rapid stream of consciousness outside of his control.

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you_ …

He found him, he found him, after all this pain he found him. Reyes waited for him and now he found him, they were together now and nothing could tear them apart. Nothing else mattered. The wounds would heal, apologies would be given, maybe things would be just as they were before. No, better. No more lies, no more secrets, no more stupid rash decisions that fucked up both of their lives. Only acceptance and transparency. That was what he wanted, that was what he craved.

Who he craved.

Reyes…

“Hold on. I’m going to free you and then we’re getting the hell out of here,” he said, reassuringly, even if he wasn't sure how he would be able to achieve that. He didn’t know how to leave this godforsaken town, he didn’t know where his crew was, he didn’t know how to contact the Tempest. And Reyes was in no shape to run or fight if they encountered monsters. But those were concerns for later. Right now nothing mattered but Reyes, tending to his wounds, making him better after having been so cruelly mistreated. Scott cursed himself for not taking that first aid kit with him. At least he knew where it was, he’d bring it here immediately. “Everything will be okay.” 

Reyes said nothing, just looked at him, obviously exhausted and worn-out, fighting to stay conscious. But there was a shadow of a smile playing on his lips and the warmth in his eyes Scott remembered from before, before everything turned to shit. A feeble sign that perhaps one day he'd be granted forgiveness, a harbinger of hope that not everything was forfeit yet.

God, he loved him. He loved him so much. And he had let him down so terribly, he had betrayed him like no one had before. He didn’t deserve forgiveness and yet he wished for it so badly.

Maybe one day.

Scott took out the knife, which fortunately he hadn’t lost in the sewers, and used it to cut through the ropes holding Reyes.

Only his reflexes allowed Scott to catch the man before he fell to the ground when the bonds stopped supporting him. Scott made him lean hard against himself, wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him steady. Reyes was even weaker than he’d thought. Scott had to hold up his whole body weight, as if there wasn’t any strength left in him. Thinking what his enemies must have done to him broke Scott’s heart.

“Can you walk?” he asked, stopping himself from brushing a damp strand of hair away from Reyes’ forehead. That would be the privilege of intimacy he had lost when he shot his lover in the back.

Reyes nodded, although even such a simple gesture seemed to put strain on him. He tried to take a step, but all he managed was a weak shuffle of his feet, his whole body trembling from the exertion. Scott was so used to seeing him strut around, confident, amazing, that this broken man almost felt like a different person. A person who needed to be protected and cared for. Scott would probably have to carry him to safety.

A literal burden of his sins, of consequences for his self-righteous stupidity. He deserved harsher punishment.

Who did this to you, he almost asked, but halted his tongue just in time. He knew who had done it. It was him. Even if someone else’s hand held the knife it was his own mistake guiding it, his own betrayal that prompted the punches. The reality of it all, the magnitude of what he had done, how badly he had wronged Reyes, seemed to fully sink in when he saw the aftermath with his very eyes.

And it hurt, hurt more than the wound his father had left him, both on his arm and on his soul.

_I should have died, I should have died, I should have died…_

“Are there any enemies nearby?” he asked just to fill the silence and stop thinking. Silent Hill was quiet, dead, seemingly devoid of people and monsters. Holding its breath and waiting for what would happen next. The tension terrified Scott, filled his veins with liquid nitrogen.

Reyes shrugged listlessly and shook his head. His face looked weary, his skin ashen, his golden eyes dimmed and blank.  

The silence cut through Scott more viciously than any shout could.

“Why won’t you speak to me?” he asked, hating how his voice quivered, showing his vulnerability. He hated that, hated that he was making this all about himself when there was Reyes in front of him, so broken and so hurt. Always the fucking egoist, always caring about himself first and foremost, his own precious feelings and his own desires. The Pathfinder, the hero for all humanity, the beacon of hope, what a bunch of bullshit. He was a fraud with a blackened heart.

Reyes said nothing.

Scott lowered his gaze to the ground in shame.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for what I’ve done to you. If I could turn back time I would, in a heartbeat. I made a mistake, the biggest of my life, and it’s been haunting me ever since. Every time I close my eyes I see you there in that cave, bleeding, betrayed.” The words just kept coming, not from his mouth but from his heart, as he bared it before his former lover, blinking away tears that welled up from his soul. Or maybe it was just mist hanging from his eyelashes, he couldn’t tell anymore. Were traitors still capable of crying? But the words kept coming anyway, regardless of the answer. “Please talk to me. Yell at me, curse me, tell me to go to hell if you must, but say something. I missed you so much, I missed your voice. I keep hearing it in my head all the time. Please say something and exorcise that voice away, stop it from racking in my brain. Please.”     

Scott looked at him, hesitant, afraid, pleading.

Again, Reyes said nothing. His golden irises were glassy, filled with sadness the likes of which Scott had never seen in him before.

Reyes opened his mouth wide. Not to speak, but to show. To show him a dark, mangled lump of flesh still reeking of blood.

Scott screamed, horrified, unable to believe his eyes. And yet they weren’t lying, he knew that it was the truth and no amount of denial could change the brutal reality of it.

Reyes’s tongue had been cut off.

“Oh God, oh Jesus…” Scott whispered, barely holding it together as he battled the nausea. “No, no, no… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. I’m sorry.”

Reyes’ body went limp, slipping away from his fingers. Scott laid him down on the ground, too weak to hold him, his hands shaking too much.

Reyes gargled, his gaze clouded with pain. His hand went to his stomach and Scott’s eyes followed the movement.

They widened in shock.

There was a deep gash running from one side of Reyes’ abdomen to the other. Fresh and open, hints of pulsing guts hidden behind the red streams of blood, threatening to overflow and spill onto the asphalt. Medi-gel couldn’t fix that. Just as it couldn’t fix the bullet wound on his shoulder, still open and leaking blood, taunting Scott.

“Reyes, no, no…” he muttered, helpless, his eyes darting around in a desperate attempt to find something, anything, to help the man. There was a hospital in this town, right? If only he could remember where, if only he could get him there in time, if only–

The frantic tornado of his thoughts stopped when he felt the ghost of a touch on his cheek. His strength fading, Reyes gently stroked his skin. He was smiling, a smile so out of place on his ashen face, with blood dripping from the corner of his lips.

Scott leaned into the touch and grabbed his other hand, eyes stinging.

“Please, hold on. I’ll think of something, I’ll fix this, I just found you. I came just as you asked me to, you waited for me and I came to Silent Hill. Please. Please, I need you…” The words tumbled out of his mouth, out of his mind, incoherent, but genuine.

Scott needed him, he loved him, he didn’t deserve him but he longed for him all the same.

_Please, please, please…_

The warm spark faded from Reyes’ eyes. His hand went limp against Scott’s cheek, the other a dead weight in his fingers.

“Reyes! Reyes!” Scott cried out. And cry he did, howling in pain, an inhuman sound of one’s soul being tarnished, ripped to shreds, the pain too much to handle. Warm tears streamed down his cheeks, falling onto his lover’s body, mixing with the blood, washing it away. “No! Please, no!” He sobbed, waves of pain going through his body as he cradled his lover’s head against his chest, blood painting his white clothes red. “Please, don’t leave me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I love you. Please!”

This couldn’t be it, it couldn’t, life couldn’t be that cruel. He went through so much, he suffered so much only to get to him. No, it couldn’t be too late, no, no, no…

His thoughts and cries were drowned out by an air-raid siren that blared through the entire town, a shrill sound, a horrible warning against something even worse. The sound rose and rose in volume, becoming painful, jarring against the eardrums. Scott lifted his swollen face and pressed his bloodied hands against his ears to block the sound. It did nothing, the sound was deafening, blinding, numbing.

Silent Hill started to change.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The music for this chapter: [Imagine Dragons - Bleeding Out](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jNFgynmVmx0).


	8. The Nature of a Man

The change was rapid, happening right before his very eyes, even though his grief-addled brain couldn’t keep up, the piercing sound of the siren making it hard to focus on anything apart from the pain. He wasn’t sure if his eardrums were bleeding or if it was Reyes’ blood, burning him like acid, seeping through his skin to his bones, never to be removed again. He had blood on his hands, on his heart, on his soul, knowing himself to be responsible for all the misery that befell the people he loved. There was nothing but blood, the taste, the smell, the constant flowing and clotting on his fingertips.

Silent Hill drowned in blood as well. The asphalt underneath him oozed red, puddles forming all around him, the metallic stench impossible to mistake for anything else. Streaks of blood rushed down the buildings, washing away the remnants of paint and leaving behind only rusty metal bars and feeble bricks. The mist cleared out, but was almost instantly replaced with darkness, tangible and sticking to everything like hot tar. The sky above was dark too, empty, all the stars dead and gone. A cold, infinite void, staring indifferently into his soul—darkness much scarier than the one in the sewers. Not just absence of light, but absence of life. Absence of everything that ever was or would be.

Scott screamed, but all he heard was the siren reverberating through his whole body. Shaking, he reached to his omni-tool and turned the flashlight on, striving for even a faint glimmer against this overbearing emptiness. The beam fell upon the ground at Scott’s knees.

Reyes was gone. The body had disappeared.

“No! Reyes!” he yelled, a broken cry overcome by anguish and the siren’s cruel blare. He bent forward, his fingers scraping over the bloodied asphalt, fingernails catching on the uneven surface and breaking, all in a hopeless attempt to get his lover back. But he was gone, gone without a trace, as if he had never been there, had never been beaten and tied to a now decaying post.

Scott’s aching fingers felt something in the puddle of blood. They coiled spasmodically around the cold, narrow surface, smooth to the touch. He let the omni-tool shine onto his finding.

A key. A large but ordinary key that looked as if it would fit into the lock on a garden gate or an old shed. A key ring with two pendants, completely obscured by blood, was attached to it. Scott smeared the gore away with his thumb as much as he could to take a better look at them.  

The first pendant was a small metal plaque. It could have been a cheap souvenir of some famous site sold near any tourist attraction, except that it had the word ‘Prison’ engraved on it, just under the approximation of an imposing building with bars in small windows, surrounded by a high, barbed fence.

The second pendant was odder. An ID tag with a small sheet of paper hidden within it. A sheet of paper with words somehow written in Scott’s own cursive, messy but still legible.

**The Victim.**

Scott stared at it, confused, completely at a loss. What did it all mean? What was the key for? Why was it here? Where was Reyes?

Was he going mad?

_I should have died, I should have died, I should have died…_

It took him a moment to notice that the siren had stopped. The silence rattled in his ears, disturbing, especially when coupled with the darkness engulfing the whole of Silent Hill.

Scott stood up, threw the key into his pocket, and took out the knife again, slowly turning around to let his omni-tool shed some light on the changed town. Everything seemed more hostile, aggressive even in the pale, orange glow of the flashlight. Almost as if the darkness felt insulted that a mere human dared to try and combat it. Scott risked another glance at the sky and promptly turned his gaze away. He was used to seeing a string of stars painted all across the blackness of space. Nothing scared him more than nothingness.

But the darkness around him wasn’t empty. At once it became alive with shrieks, howls, knocks, clatters, an infernal cacophony, far more horrifying than the siren, and only made worse by the static coming from his omni-tool. There was something in the darkness, something that wanted to get him. Maybe the darkness itself plotted to devour him, chew right through his ribs to the blackened, guilty heart of a murderer and betrayer. His punishment, his justice, his atonement for everything he had done, all those people he had killed or let down.

He deserved it, deserved it all. So why was he so scared?

A coward, that’s all he was. A gutless coward running blindly for his life, darkness breathing down his neck, getting closer with every step he took.

He couldn’t stand it, he needed to get out of here, escape. So he ran, ran as fast as his trembling legs could carry him, stumbling through the streets of Silent Hill without any idea where he was going. He wanted to hide, go inside somewhere where four walls could actually protect him. He tried the doors of different shops and apartment buildings, but the locks were broken on all of them, the doors completely unmoving, as if welded shut.

All but one, an unremarkable door leading into a butcher shop at the end of a street. The shop window displayed large hooks with pieces of rotting meat speared onto them. Scott couldn’t be sure in the darkness, but their shapes were decidedly humanlike. And yet he pressed the handle, opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him, hoping to keep the darkness at bay.

It felt as if he had found himself in a completely different place. The interior didn’t feel like a shop at all. It was a single rectangular room, all gray and bare, lit only by a few naked light bulbs, like it belonged in some half-finished basement. Except in no basement could you find about thirty nooses tied on the meat hooks that hung from the ceiling, a small stool placed conveniently under each of them. A small red sheet of paper was attached to each noose, with a word printed on it in large black letters. Without moving from his spot near the door, Scott let his gaze travel from sheet to sheet, reading the messages on those he could see.

Hate. Love. Greed. Lust. Faith. Pride. Envy. Regret. Wrath. Power. Loss…

What was that supposed to mean?

He looked over his shoulder, debating stepping away from the shop and facing the darkness again as he tried to escape from this fiendish place. But the door was no longer there, and neither was the rotten meat. Behind him was nothing but a concrete wall, blank and impenetrable, only a few bloodied handprints marring its surface.

He was truly losing his mind.

Having no other choice, Scott tucked the knife away and forced himself to take a few steps deeper into the room, turning his flashlight off. At least the jarring static ceased as well. The air was quiet again, although the silence coupled with the nooses all around him gave the room a grave, sepulchral atmosphere that was grating on his nerves more than he wanted to admit. He couldn’t escape death, it haunted him, followed him to the pits of despair, not letting him forget about what he had done, about all the misery he’d caused, all the people he destroyed.

_Dad. Reyes… Will you ever forgive me?_

Would he ever forgive himself?

He couldn’t get the memory of Reyes dying out of his head. All his injuries, the bruises, the blood flowing from the bullet hole. Still in shock, Scott felt more numb than distraught. Despite his tears, the reality of a world without Reyes hadn’t sunk in properly yet. He knew that if he tried to understand, the anguish would consume him whole.

On the other side of the room, Scott noticed another door. He went towards it, uneasiness rising in him with each step he took. The door had no handle and no lock; just a metal slab attached by hinges to the wall. But on the metal a message had been painted in blood, the freshness of it making the letters distort and drip onto the floor.

**What can change the nature of a man?**

Scott blinked in surprise and then looked again at the nooses. 

Was that… a puzzle?

It seemed bizarre but he couldn’t find any other explanation. Just to be sure, he walked around the room, looking for another way out or another method to open the door. There was none. He focused on the sheets of paper then, taking his time to read each and every one.

Names of emotions or states of mind passed before his eyes, each a potential answer to the question smeared on the door. But Scott didn’t have any doubts. Even before seeing them all, he knew what the answer was. The only true answer, always and forever.

He stood in front of one of the nooses, craning his neck and looking up with misty eyes at the word that meant so much to him.

Love.

It was his guiding principle in life, he wasn’t ashamed to admit that. He went to Andromeda out of his passion for exploring, he risked his life for his friends over and over again because he cared about them, and he went after Reyes to this godforsaken place of misery guided by love still raging in his heart.

Love could change everything. If there was one thing that could save him, that could maybe redeem him, it was love.

Scott lifted his arms and pulled at the noose marked as “Love.”

With bated breath, unblinking, he waited for something, anything, the sound of opening doors or some other indication that he had solved the puzzle correctly.

The silence was deafening.

And then he understood.

“You really want me to do it?” he said quietly, his eyes fixed at the knot. It beckoned him, drew him in. He had to do it, he had to, there was no escape, no other possible way out.

_I should have died, I should have died, I should have died…_

Scott stepped onto the stool.

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

Scott put his neck in the noose and pulled the knot, adjusting it so that it felt rough and tight against his skin, so tight that he had trouble swallowing.

“If that’s what you want,” he said, his eyes staring at nothing in particular. “Love has changed me, I know.”

Scott closed his eyes and kicked the stool from under his feet.

Gravity embraced him and pulled him down. The noose tightened around his neck, cutting off air from his lungs. He gargled, his hands reaching on instinct to his neck, scratching in frenzy at the rope, the fibers getting stuck to the blood under his broken nails. His body twitched as he dangled a foot above the ground, helpless and dying. As he struggled to get free, the momentum turned him around, his bulging eyes gawking at the door. Locked just as it was before, unmoving and cold. Except the question had vanished. Instead, a new word was painted in crimson over it.

**Wrong.**

Scott’s vision was failing, blackening out, his head growing light, weightless, the heavier his dying body became.

He didn’t want to die. That thought flashed inside his mind, all panic and despair. So human, so vulnerable.

_I don’t want to die._

_I should have died, I should have died, I should have died…_

_I should. But I don’t want to._

His hand went to his belt, grabbing the knife. The handle almost slipped from his trembling fingers, but he used all his remaining strength to hold it tightly. One hand grasping the rope, he used the other to bring the knife and cut at it furiously. His lungs were on fire, his throat burned as if filled with molten iron, his thoughts sped out of control as his consciousness seeped away, devoured by this nightmare world. But still he cut through the rope, the fibers snapping one by one agonizingly slowly, knowing this would probably be the last thing he would ever do.

_I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…_

The rope gave way. Scott’s body hit the floor with a painful thud, knocking over a few other stools. He hardly noticed his new bruises as he curled up in a fetal position, wheezing and spluttering as he loosened the knot and removed it, finally able to take the stale air into his lungs. The words on the door changed back to the question, as if the puzzle had reset itself. Scott breathed laboriously in and out, his chest hurting so much that his eyes filled with tears.

The tears had little to do with physical pain though. He rolled onto his back, staring unseeingly at the gray, cracked ceiling and sobbed like a child. The swollen, red chaffed ring forming around his neck was the mark of his failure, of his disillusionment, of his naivety. He scratched at it, provoking the pain, welcoming it, embracing it as punishment for his hubris.

Love wasn’t enough, it never was. Love couldn’t change anything, couldn’t change him. Love wasn’t enough to halt him from pulling the trigger on the man he cared about. Love didn’t stop him from hurting the people who were closest to him, his lover, his family, his crew.  Love was weak, dying, starving from being fed nothing but lies.

But there was something else that could change the nature of a man, that had the power to mend and break people, to lift them up or throw them into the blackest pits of misery, just like it did to him. And he’d always known that, he felt it in his bones, but he’d tried to delude himself, to ignore the things that Lexi had told him, that everyone around him could see.

There was only one thing that could truly change the nature of a man. The most powerful force that moved the world.

Regret.

Scott stood up, lifeless like a mannequin, tripping with every step. But he didn’t waver, he didn’t stop, just walked straight to another noose. The one marked “Regret.”

He didn’t have anything left, did he? Nothing but regret and the ashes of the world he had burned, of the love he had destroyed, of the people he’d sentenced to death. Only that could change the nature of a man.

With no hesitation, no delay, he stepped on the stool and put the right noose around his neck. His heavy heart weighing him down, he jumped.

The rope snapped as soon as his feet left the stool. He fell down to the ground again, but this time he landed standing. The sound of the metal door unlocking and sliding open cut through the room. Numb, defeated, Scott walked to the entrance, filled with the bitter aftertaste of soul-crushing realization.

Regret made the heaviest chains.

_I should have died, I should have died, I should have died…_

_Reyes is dead._

_I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…_

The siren rang out again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to lie, I really like this chapter. Kudos and comments are very much appreciated, tell me what you think!
> 
> The music for this chapter: [The Romanovs - King](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P911lpDWjp8).
> 
> _Long live the king, the king is dead_  
>  _Your prayers won't call him back to your bed_


	9. Those Who Fight

The door closed behind him, but he hardly noticed. Once again he found himself in Silent Hill, the town that on the surface resembled an ordinary settlement swimming in mist. Never would he have thought that the sight would be a welcome one. Anything was better than that room full of nooses, than the darkness of a hostile, infinite void all around him.

His omni-tool stayed quiet, not erupting with painful static as he half-expected it would. Somehow it seemed to react to the monsters, warning against them. Perhaps they emitted some sort of electrical frequency that the omni-tool picked up, though he wasn’t sure how that could work. And honestly he didn’t care.

He didn’t care about anything. Reyes was dead. What was the point?

No one was waiting for him anymore.

And yet that stupid survival instinct prevented him from simply curling up on the asphalt and waiting for death, just as it had stopped him from dying on the hangman's noose. Maybe that would be too merciful for him. Maybe before Silent Hill finally did him in he needed to suffer, he needed to pay for what he had done with pain, scars and blood.

The burning welt on his neck was a brand, a reminder of all his mistakes and all the foolish illusions he used to harbor. The naivety of youth, youth that was no more. He felt like an old, broken man.

His aching feet moved without any conscious effort on his part. Numbly, he just stumbled on, not knowing in which part of the town he was, not knowing where to go. All the streets were the same, all swallowed by the mist.

A thought emerged from the back of his mind.

Prison. He remembered the image from the key he got, which still weighed heavily in his pocket, but not as heavy as his heart.

Reyes died in his arms and he couldn't do anything.

Was the prison a clue? Or a threat? Foreshadowing? The place where he belonged for all his sins, the place where he should spend eternity rotting in his own filth?

He murdered his dad, he murdered Reyes, he didn’t deserve any better.

The voices in his head, the derision and cruel mockery, became louder, so loud he couldn't tell anymore if they were his own thoughts or intrusive whispers of those who loathed him.

He loathed himself the most. He killed Reyes.

It wasn’t even surprising that before he knew it he found himself standing in front of the imposing building with bars over its small windows, surrounded by an impossibly high, barbed fence. Maybe his legs knew the way, or maybe his own guilt conjured the prison out of thin air.

The gate was enormous, massive, unbreakable. In contrast to its grandeur, the lock felt almost laughably small. Its purpose was clear – to show how impossible it was to get out of this place, how ridiculous the very thought of freedom was.

Scott walked to the gate and pulled at the bars. Locked. Obviously. But he needed to enter, that was the right thing to do, he had to do it. His hand moved to his pocket, his fingers coiling around the cold metal. The key burned his skin, shame and regret scalding deeper than fire.

Swallowing hard, Scott took the key and slid it into the lock. He expected some resistance, but it turned smoothly with a soft clinking noise. The gate opened silently, as if someone in this forsaken city had been religiously oiling the hinges. Somehow a blood-curdling screech would have been more fitting.

Hesitant, Scott stepped into the prison courtyard. He’d never been in one, but it looked pretty much like he’d imagined it might. A narrow corridor for visitors separated from the spaces for inmates by two rows of tall barbed fences. The field was probably once filled with grass, but right now there was nothing but dirt. Broken benches, a rusted over basketball loop, cracked asphalt of the pitch. Everything in a state of decay, just like everywhere else in Silent Hill.

Where was everybody? What happened to the people living in the town? Did the monsters get them? Did the darkness or the mist consume them?

Was there anyone here in the first place?

No answers. No one who _could_ answer him.

Scott shook his head, forcing himself to go on regardless. He walked towards the wooden, double-winged door. The right wing hung pathetically on one hinge, but the other seemed sturdy enough. And yet it opened with nothing more than a gentle push of Scott’s hand. He stepped inside, careful not to disturb the other half of the door.

Oddly enough, the prison’s interior reminded him a lot of the sewers. Sure, the corridor was bright, dry and even though the air here was stale and full of dust, it was nowhere near as bad as the one underground. The similarity was in the dingy concrete walls, gray and sad, as if painted over with hopelessness. All around was rubble, common trash and broken chairs. A perfect picture of abandoned deterioration.

Scott moved deeper into the building, passing barred windows, all with shattered glass. The remaining shards, opaque and dirty, grinned at him like the teeth of a dead animal.

More steps and even more rubble mixed with pieces of a broken pot, a withered plant lying helplessly among the debris.

Why was he here? What was he looking for?

Scott didn’t know, but what other choice did he have but to walk and walk until he couldn’t walk anymore? Maybe there was a purpose to him being here, maybe he’d figure it out eventually.

He missed hearing Reyes’ voice in his head. He longed for one more “waiting for you,” how those words always ignited his bones with the determination to stand up and  fight. But no one was waiting for him anymore, that voice fallen silent forever.

Scott pinched the bridge of his nose and blinked a few times, as if trying to fight tears that weren't coming. His eyes remained dry, stinging. If he did cry, he was certain it would be with blood.

With empty heart and empty mind, he left the area meant for visitors, reaching the bars and a gate leading deeper into the facility. It was unlocked, slightly ajar, as if inviting him in.

Scott paused, hesitating. Should he enter? Would it change anything?

He scratched at the red welt around his neck, still pulsing with dull pain.

What difference would anything he did bring now?

Maybe he should just–

A sudden loud noise cut his musings short.

A gunshot. And another. Five consecutive bangs separated by mere seconds, enhanced by an echo and booming throughout the whole prison.

Scott's body froze, but the sound of a gun firing seemed to have jump-started his mind.

There was someone here besides him. A survivor of Silent Hill. Could it be… Jaal? Or Peebee? Or both?  

He needed to find them, finally see a friendly face among all the horrors. Just as he needed to forget Reyes’ face when he died in his arms.

Reyes was _dead_. He died and the world still continued somehow, even if Scott’s own had crumbled to dust.

Scott took a deep breath and once again plunged into the labyrinth of concrete. There was no darkness here, no rats, no stale and vile water and yet the memory of the sewers made his stomach clench painfully. No, he couldn’t think about it, it was done, gone, never again.

Never again like Reyes.

Oh God, he was losing his mind.

Desperate to focus on something, on anything, aside from the bleeding, serrated hole where his heart was supposed to be, Scott forced his eyes to read the markings on the walls, however scarce they were: normal caution signs and labels informing him that he was approaching Block A. He listened for more gunshots, but none followed. He didn’t want to think what that might mean.

What he heard instead was the static. Again, coming from his omni-tool. He tensed on instinct. More monsters? What could lurk here, hidden from the world and forgotten between the gray walls?

Anxiously, he approached another slightly opened gate and went through it without pausing. He found himself in a large room, bigger than a soccer pitch. On both sides of it were rows of locked cells, stretching from one end to the other. Twin flights of metal stairs lead to the upper story where similar lines of cells were located.

The cells… they weren’t empty. As far as he could see, there was a monster in each of them; that explained the static. Emboldened by the bars standing between him and the enemies, Scott ventured a few steps closer. Despite himself, he was morbidly curious what nightmare Silent Hill had concocted this time. It seemed that every cell housed an identical creature, a creature that made Scott scrunch his nose in revulsion.

Tall humanoids, but with their shoulders slumped and their spines bent painfully forward, as if some heavy weight was crushing it. They didn’t stay still, their emaciated bodies twitching all the time, painful spasms as though racked with silent sobs.

No, not silent. They were crying, the sound distorted and guttural, but unmistakably that of pitiful crying, even if laced with pain and anger. Each wore something resembling an orange straightjacket with their crooked arms tied up to their groins, the leather strips biting hard into their sickly pale skin. They jerked their hands as if wanting to pleasure themselves, but without the freedom of movement they were denied the release. A picture of repression, suppressed desires, desires that were better buried deep but never quite forgotten. Their faces were featureless, blank like mannequins, bearing only three dark empty holes: two for eyes and one for a mouth with a wet, spiky tongue coiling in a mesmerizing manner on their chests.

Scott could tell that those eyes were peering at him. And as the intensity of the stare increased, so did the jerking movements of their bound hands, wailing mixed with frustrated, erratic gasps.

Scott felt sick to his stomach. Breathing heavily, a bitter taste on his tongue, he marched forward across the block, determined not to look at the creatures, cutting them off from his vision, pretending they weren’t there. Ignoring them like he ignored his desires, so empty, so futile now that his world was nothing but ashes.

_Reyes was dead._

He bit on his lower lip so hard that he felt blood seep through the gaps between his teeth. Anything to feel something other than a heartache.

He was almost at the door when a loud, rusty clang halted him in place. The dry sound of the cell doors opening. Slowly, dreading what he would see, Scott risked a glance over his shoulder. Yes, all the cell doors were wide open now. And the monsters started stumbling out of their confinement, tongues flapping, empty eye sockets zooming in on Scott. All at once, all of them, like some sick hive-minded horde, they stampeded towards him.

Scott flung the door open and ran, ran as fast as he could deeper into the prison, hearing the rasping shouts and tapping of flat feet against the concrete right behind him. His heart pounded in his chest, fueled by terror. He skidded the corners of more decrepit corridors, pursued by the unleashed lustful hunger of the creatures. He managed to lose some in the mad chase, but at least six were so close that he almost felt them panting down his neck, the stench of unwashed bodies and sweat making his stomach churn. Their tongues slashed the air like daggers, reminding Scott about his own knife. But what could one blade do against so many foes? He was getting short of breath, a searing pain tearing at his side and making him slow down. He couldn’t keep up, he couldn’t keep on running forever. One more decaying corridor, one more corner to take, he forced his legs to move, one more step, one more corridor, one more desperate breath, one more second of living for no one and nobody.

This would be it. The monsters would devour him, kill him. Or worse. He just hoped it would happen quickly. Nothing mattered anymore.

“Down, you idiot!”

The shout came as a surprise, out of nowhere, catching him off guard. His body reacted on instinct, his exhaustion another reason for him falling onto his knees. In a state of shock, he looked behind at the monsters.

One by one, their heads exploded, pierced by a bullet. Bang, bang, the creatures slumped to the ground in a spray of blood and rotten brains. All of them shared the same fate, the bullets slaying them all. There was no more static, no sound but his own quickened breathing and the echo of a gunshot, slowly fading away.

Speechless, Scott turned his head to see where the shots had been fired from.

A makeshift barricade of concrete slabs and wood. And behind it the man Scott never thought he’d see again. Scott could only stare.

“Scott?” the man said when an eternity had passed, his hands clutching an assault rifle, his eyes blown wide. He lowered the gun at his side, seeming completely thrown off balance.

And so was Scott, his world collapsing and rebuilding itself chaotically all around him, as he spiraled down into the deepest pits of madness.

“Reyes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The music for this chapter: [HIDDEN CITIZENS - PAINT IT BLACK](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lyi2C194c6M)
> 
> _I look inside myself and see my heart is black_  
> 


	10. Allied in the Common Goal

Time seemed frozen all around them. Scott simply stared, unable to do anything else.

This couldn’t be. How could this be? His senses must be deceiving him. Silent Hill’s cruel joke, mocking his pain and rubbing salt into the still raw wounds on his soul.

And yet the monsters had been killed, and the man in front of him seemed real, his surprise palpable, his shock mirroring Scott’s own.

“Reyes?” Scott said again, swallowing hard. It was him, it was Reyes, same face, same voice. Like a sleepwalker stumbling in a world of dreams, like a moth drawn to the flame that would burn it to cinders, Scott started walking towards him.

_Reyes... Reyes... Reyes..._

That seemed to break the spell. Reyes shook his head as if to snap out of it and then decisively lifted the gun again, the barrel trailed right at the middle of Scott’s chest.

“Not a step further!” His voice was stern, his eyes cold as steel, untrusting.

Scott obliged. His feet stopped but the awed expression on his face didn’t change. The gun mattered not, he barely even noticed it.

“I thought you were dead.” Scott sized him up, as if expecting to see the injuries, the bruises, the blood. But Reyes was fine – if a little battle worn – not a trace of the merciless ordeal he went through before. And he was fully clothed too, in the same uniform he’d worn so many times on Kadara. Scott could describe that outfit from memory, having seen it, touched it, eased it onto the floor before they went to bed. Only the shoulder bore a mark of destruction, the tear barely concealing a half-healed scar. The hole in the fabric and in the flesh that Scott’s bullet had torn.

Reyes followed his gaze and snickered without much mirth.

“Well, you did try to kill me.” He pointed with his chin to the memento of how disastrously events had unfolded. “But I pulled through. I’m tougher than you think.”

“No!” Scott shook his head, as if barely hearing what he was saying. “Just now! You were beaten, tortured, your… your tongue was cut out! And your stomach…! There was so much blood… Look!” he cried out, his voice almost breaking, his gaze harrowed, as he extended his arms towards Reyes. He sounded completely frazzled, on the verge of having a panic attack. “I have your blood sticking to my skin, it soaked into my clothes!”

Reyes looked him over, his golden eyes taking in the smeared shirt and the rusty stains flaking off Scott’s hands. When he noticed the red welt around his neck, something akin to pity flickered briefly across his hardened face.

“You’re delusional. But I see you’ve been through some nasty shit.” He lowered the gun, but didn’t relax his stance. It was clear he was ready to pull it up again without hesitation. “God, Scott, you're a mess. What the fuck are you even doing in this hellhole?”

Scott blinked at him in surprise, his whole body trembling from all the conflicting emotions he felt.

“What do you mean? You sent me an email saying that you were waiting for me here! And I came to find you!”

Reyes narrowed his eyes, confused and suspicious.

“I didn’t send you anything.” A beat of a pause, as if he was trying to see right through Scott, uncover the lies. “Aside from that email, right after you shot me. Remember?”

Scott lowered his gaze to the floor, guilt and shame painted across his features.

“I remember.” Just as he remembered all the anguish that one shot brought. His whole world had been destroyed and since then he seemed to be living among the debris. But despite all that Reyes was here, safe and sound, a gift from fate he couldn't overlook. Scott lifted his gaze again. “If you didn't contact me then who did?” Reyes had no answer to that, so he only shrugged. It didn't really matter, Scott supposed. “What are _you_ doing here, Reyes?”

Again, he could only shrug.

“I don’t know. I woke up in one of the cells. I managed to pick the lock and let myself out, but as it turned out this whole place is crawling with monsters. So I broke into the armory, grabbed whatever weaponry there was and since then I’ve been steadily decreasing the population of these creatures while trying to find a way out of here,” he said, making it sound so simple. His face, however, betrayed a hint of irritation. “There are so many monsters here, it’s as if there is no end to them…”

Scott nodded absentmindedly. Monsters weren’t his main concern, he didn't care about them.

Reyes… he truly was here. Right in front of him. Scott longed to touch him, to wrap his arms around him, feel his heartbeat against his own chest. But that wasn’t something attainable, not now, perhaps not ever.

Reyes was here, but he wasn’t waiting for him.

“What is the last thing you remember? Before here I mean,” Scott asked, his own thoughts going back to the angaran research facility. It seemed so long ago, so unreal, as if it had happened years in the past to someone else, not him.

For a little while Reyes seemed lost. He looked up, as if sinking deep into his memories. A crease appeared in the middle of his forehead. Scott wanted to smooth it, kiss it away.

Foolish.

Just as foolish as wanting to exorcize away the flash of anger and resentment in those golden eyes when the answer followed.

“The cave.”

It hurt. The words slashed at him, cutting through flesh, tendons and bones. Once again the guilt clenched its talons around his neck, burning him more severely than the chaffed ring left on his skin by his broken delusions.

“I’m sorry,” he said, meaning it, just as he meant it the first time crying over his lover’s body. “I’m sorry for what I’ve done, I’m sorry for hurting you, I’m sorry that–”

“Hey, stop that,” Reyes interrupted harshly. He seemed out of patience and out of sympathy, his voice sharp like a whip. Scott snapped to attention. “Don’t blubber, don’t whine. I need you at the top of your game if we’re to survive this shitstorm. Got it?”

Scott stared at him. There was something about Reyes, some kind of power he only rarely saw glimpses of. Determination, charisma. Right now it was shining like a beacon. There was no other choice but to submit.

“Y-yes,” he replied, swallowing the tears and the torment. ‘We’ pulsed in his mind, a pale shadow of what could have been, but better than the loneliness of ‘I’.

“Good.” Reyes nodded, giving him a onceover like a general of his troops right before the battle. “Your biotics will definitely be useful against these monsters.”

Scott felt a cold block of ice forming in his stomach.

“I can’t use my biotics.”

“What? Why?”

Scott hated to see the look of disapproval on Reyes’ face but he couldn’t lie about his uselessness.

“I don’t know. I simply can’t. My powers don’t work here.”

“Shit.” Reyes ran his hand over his face. He seemed tired and yet somehow unbreakable. “You have any weapons?”

“A knife.”

“That won’t do.” Reyes grit his teeth, chewing a while on his hesitation. Giving Scott a long, appraising look, he finally seemed to make his decision. He grabbed the pistol from his holster and tossed it to Scott. “Try not to shoot me in the back this time.”

Death by a thousand cuts. Scott’s hand shook as he checked if the clip was full. It was. He hadn’t touched a gun since that fateful day in the cave. Now the metal seemed to burn his skin, his twitching finger reluctant to move anywhere near the trigger.

Scott could feel Reyes’ gaze on him, but his former lover’s expression was unreadable.

“Let's be clear about something. I don’t trust you, Ryder, not one bit, but our chances are better if we stick together. However, try anything funny and I will have no qualms about shooting you down and using you as monster fodder.”

“I won’t,” Scott promised, swallowing hard. He had no doubt that Reyes would actually do it, wouldn’t hesitate. A chilling thought, a glimpse into the darkness beneath the surface. “Never.”

“Oh, but you did.” Those golden eyes narrowed at him, seething contempt reflected in them. “And because of that you lost the privilege of getting the benefit of the doubt.”

“You speak of trust.” Scott raised his voice, hurt and bitter, close to tears. More crestfallen than mad, still feeling Reyes’ warm blood on his skin. “But it was you who lied to me. All that time, nothing but lies.”

“You’re wrong. I lied, yes, but not about everything.” Reyes shook his head. “And you can call me a liar all you want if it makes you feel better, but know this: I’m not a traitor. I would never have stabbed you in the back. Not you.”

There was something in the way Reyes uttered those last two words that felt like a slap across his cheek.

“Do you hate me?”

The words left Scott’s mouth before he decided that some things were better left unspoken.

Such directness caught Reyes off guard.

“I don’t hate you,” he answered with frustration and rolled his eyes, but that felt like an empty gesture, a deliberate attempt to downplay what had been said. “Look, just… Let’s go. We’ve already spent too much time here, I can hear more monsters approaching. Let’s get out of here, then we can talk, all this touchy-feely crap, yeah? Survival first.”

Not waiting for a reply, Reyes started to walk briskly down the corridor. Scott had no choice but to follow, jogging to keep up, thousands of thoughts, questions and longings cluttering his mind.

One was the loudest.

“It's good to hear your voice again,” he whispered. Reyes didn't seem to hear it. Or if he did he didn’t let it show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for Reyes: [Five Finger Death Punch - Lift Me Up](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X-2yuGgp_U8)
> 
>  
> 
> _I won't be broken_  
>  _I won't be tortured_  
>  _I won't be beaten down_


	11. Not a Good Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay. There will be more, soon I hope. Thank you for your patience and your constant support, it really means a lot. <3

As they moved through the empty, desolate corridors of the facility, Scott paid the bare minimum of attention to his surroundings. His focus had shifted fully to his former lover, his eyes infallibly returning to him as if summoned by some unnamed force, taking in the look of determination on his face, his constant vigilance, and the careful movements of a fighter whose skills had been shaped by experience rather than by any formal training.

Walking side by side with Reyes, Scott felt the heat radiating from his body, heard the rustle of his clothes, caught a musky whiff of his sweat. It was so easy to picture him smiling, relaxed, gulping down whiskey at Kralla’s Song after finishing one of his preposterous stories that made Scott laugh so hard he had to clutch the table or risk toppling off his stool. The memories of dimly lit rooms, of hushed whispers, of mingling breaths, of the steady rhythm of bodies were still painfully vivid. The times when he and Reyes made a perfect unit.

Not anymore. Those people had changed. Those people had died. No, not simply died. Scott had murdered them both.

“You’re staring, Ryder,” Reyes said, not sparing him anything more than a side glance. “If a monster bites you in the ass it will be your own goddamn fault.”

“Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“Sorry.”

This time Reyes gave him a pointed look. His eyes glistened briefly. Not with annoyance, as Scott expected, but with something more like faint amusement. A shadow of his former self, a minute throwback to what they once had. The familiarity of that gaze caused Scott’s heart to ache. He wanted to curl up on the ground and howl all the pain away until nothing remained but comfortable numbness.

Reyes said nothing, even though Scott would take anything from him, all the yelling and scolding. His voice, not reverberating through Scott’s mind, not silenced forever by having the tongue cut. Just… his voice. More of it. Bittersweet lashes of words vibrating with a foreign accent.

But they walked in silence, the only sound their feet hitting the concrete.

Without any forewarning, static filled the air, the noise grating and infernal. Both peered at Scott’s arm. Reyes seemed surprised, Scott not so much.

“There are monsters nearby,” Scott said matter-of-factly.

“You think?” The sarcasm was short lived, replaced by genuine curiosity. “Why is your omni-tool making such noise?”

“I don’t know. It just does.” It all started when his father died, after Scott had killed him. But that was something he didn’t want to share with Reyes, not right now at least. “Not sure how it works but it seems to warn me against monsters.”

Reyes stared at his own device. He fiddled with it for a moment but without any satisfying results.

“Why only yours and not mine?”

Scott couldn’t offer any insight. In the end, Reyes gave up, coming back to more pressing matters.

“Okay, but that’s a double-edged sword. The noise is also warning the monsters that you’re near,” Reyes observed astutely. “Turn it off.”

Scott felt like an idiot. He hadn’t thought of the impact it would have on the monsters, not even for a second. Stealth was out of the question if a loud noise preceded your every step.

Obediently, Scott switched the device off. Silence once again ruled the prison halls. Scott swallowed hard and let his finger slide along the strap in an almost tender gesture. Even if the omni-tool didn’t work as it should, having it was still a relief. Up until now he hadn’t realized how comforting he found the familiar weight on his wrist. A link of sorts with his former life far away from Silent Hill. The only one, since even his clothes had been replaced.

“Your omni-tool can’t make a call either, right?” said Reyes. It wasn’t a question really, more a statement of fact.

“No. I tried to reach the Tempest, but I couldn’t.”

Reyes nodded grimly without letting his guard down even for a moment. It made Scott wonder what he had been through to make him this watchful, but he didn’t ask. Whatever Reyes experienced, Scott was to blame. Sometimes it was better not to know.

In silence, full of tension and uncertainty, they traversed the prison corridors. Reyes was confident but careful, the deceptive absence of sound not making him forget that danger was close. Scott, holding the pistol in his useless fingers, could only follow his lead in absolute submission. Like a pathetic mimic, when Reyes moved, he moved too. When he stopped, he stopped as well. No more agency, no more initiative, no more hazarding a decision. A subdued facsimile of himself shadowing someone far superior in every way.

They reached a large perpendicular corridor, stretching far left and right, identical. Reyes looked in both directions, pondering.

“I think the way left leads to another block,” he said. Scott didn’t question how he could possibly know that. “It’ll be teeming with monsters, most likely. Let’s go right.”

Scott nodded and followed blindly. His temples throbbed as if he was feverish. Everything seemed so unreal. Reyes had died in his arms. Reyes was here alive, just a few inches away. Thinking about it made Scott’s head spin, all his thoughts scattered and fragmented. He longed to say something personal to Reyes, to rest his head against his shoulder, to steal a kiss from those serious lips. He wouldn’t. None of that would be received favorably, he believed.

They reached the end of the corridor and stepped through a metal door into another room. It was a bathroom, divided in the middle by a half-collapsed wall. On the left were clogged toilets overflowing with filth, broken sinks and fractured mirrors, the shards scattered all around the crumbling tiled floor. These shards reminded Scott of the school bathroom, of the glass against his wrist, and the cold surface under his naked skin.

He turned his head away and shivered, trying to fight the liquid nitrogen filling up his bones.

On the other side of the room were showers. One rusty pipe ran along the length of the ceiling, dripping mucky water that gathered in puddles of slime on the floor. And among them… there was someone. A naked, human shape, male, curled in on himself. Crying quietly, sobs muffled, the noise pitiful and heart-wrenching.

Full of empathy, Scott took a step closer towards him.

“Don’t,” said Reyes, his voice hard and overbearing. There was not even a trace of sympathy there. “Leave him, let’s go around him as far as possible.”

“No!” Scott replied, the spark of rebellion igniting in his heart. “We can’t just ignore him. What if he’s hurt? We need to help him, save him!”

“Just like you saved Sloane?” Reyes’ smile was cynical, and it felt like a punch to the gut. “Look how much good that did.”

Scott bit on his lip, his hands clenching into fists. He was shaking now, once again reliving all that he had done in that cave. How he pushed Sloane out of the sniper’s way, how she shot at Reyes and how Scott shot at him again. He didn’t need a reminder about what had happened, the scene kept playing in his head over and over again. The biggest mistake of his life on constant repeat, always present, always hurting, just as sharp in his memory as all those months before.

“What I regret,” he said through his teeth, “is shooting you. Not saving her. Never saving someone’s life when I have the option to do it.”

Reyes shook his head, disappointed, irritated. His words flowed with vitriol and intensity that came from holding them back for too long.

“She would have killed me if she had the chance. She certainly tried. And you almost _did_ kill me. Are you really so stupid, so naïve as to see yourself as some kind of lifesaver, Scott? As a knight in shining Pathfinder armor, the paragon of justice? Saving Sloane doomed hundreds of people. And their blood is on your hands. You are a murderer, Scott Ryder, and no amount of beautiful slogans and self-deception can change that. You leave a trail of bodies and misery wherever you go. You’re not a good man, Scott. Don’t delude yourself. You’re far worse than me because at least I can face who I am.”

Scott wanted to defend himself, wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that Scott had done a lot of good in his life, that he really did save people. But then… how many did die because of him? How many lives had he destroyed, taken away?

Dad. Reyes…

Scott said nothing. There were no words he could string together.

And despite all that, he knew he couldn’t just walk away.

Without looking Reyes in the eye, he walked towards the man lying on the floor. Careful, step by step, ignoring his past lover’s burning gaze on the back of his head, he approached. The man reminded him so much of himself, the same tensed, slender line of arms, the same protruding ribs, the same net of scars covering the pale skin. Almost like the present him mixed with himself from the past, that sad, broken teen who almost took his life in that cold bathroom. But this man wasn’t feeling anguished, hollow, defeated like that little boy; at least it didn’t seem that way. This man was sobbing with his head hidden between his arms, suffering, scared, tormented, but not broken yet. Maybe there was still hope for him, maybe Scott could help. Maybe he could prove to Reyes that his life had a purpose and that he could actually make a difference for the better. Maybe he could prove that to himself.

Scott crouched right next to the crying man. He needed to help him, he needed that victory.

How selfish of him. Caring only about his own feelings even when he was on a mission to help someone else. Reyes was right. He was truly deceiving himself. The worst of the worst, a murderer, and a liar. A liar bigger than the Charlatan himself. Maybe that was the reason he was so angry at Reyes back then in the cave. Maybe he understood in that moment that they were not so different. Except Reyes was more honest with his lying. At least Reyes didn’t lie to himself.

Scott chased these thoughts away. It wasn’t the time or the place for them. No amount of self-pity would change the fact that the man needed assistance.

“Are you okay?” he asked, putting his hand on his shoulder. And then, just like that, all hell broke loose, starting with a renewed blast of static from his omni-tool.

The man threw his head back so hard that his cranium smashed against his spine with a horrible crunch. It wasn’t human, not anymore at least. Its skin was crumpled as if it had been submerged in water for too long and marred with deep lines eaten out by salty tears. The eyes were all white, unseeing, and the mouth so wide open that Scott could look deep into its throat. The throat from which a horrible, horrible shriek came out, inhuman in its rage and agony.

Horrified, Scott fell back and stared at the monster, completely paralyzed. But the creature didn’t wait for him to get his wits back. Head dangling uselessly on its broken neck, the monster jumped up on all fours and leapt at Scott, fingers like claws aimed at his face. Scott couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe, just watched helplessly as the demon got ready to tear him to shreds.

Reyes’ bullet saved his life. Striking right between the monster’s eyes, it killed the creature before it could cause any damage. A lifeless corpse flopped right at Scott’s feet. Shell-shocked, Scott stared at Reyes with wide, terrified eyes.

“Move! Get up!” Reyes yelled, his eyes darting frantically from his ex-lover to the monsters flocking inside, summoned by the outcry. At least eight of them, those twisted, twitchy abominations, rushing towards them, the most pathetic whimpers of fury leaving their abused bodies. But their feebleness was deceptive. So much rage and hurt boiled in them, just waiting to be taken out on anyone in their way, mutilating their flesh to a point beyond recognition.

And yet Scott couldn’t even lift a finger.

“Fuck! Fuck!” Reyes hissed, his head whipping to the other side of the room where the exit was. He must have realized that he could still make it if he started running, abandoning Scott to his fate and the monsters.

Reyes met Scott’s eyes. They were both aware what would happen, they could both see how this would unfurl.

Scott nodded, just a shadow of a gesture, something his body did without involving his consciousness. But he was fine with that. Reyes should run. He wouldn’t blame him, he wouldn’t curse him in his last dying breath for leaving him behind. He deserved that. There was no salvation for him. And if his death meant that Reyes would survive, then so be it. Reyes saw that and understood, Scott could tell by the look on his face.

What Scott didn’t count on seeing there was a struggle. Uncertainty. Reyes hesitated. And as he did, it was already too late to escape. He’d missed his window.

“Fuck!” Reyes shouted, and with a yell of ire rushed at the first monster. He moved with purpose and skill, using his omni-blade to pierce right through the first assailant. With a pained gurgle and a spray of acidic-looking blood, the monster thudded to the ground. Reyes didn’t waste time; he ducked to avoid the attack of another of these sad creatures and, using the momentum, slashed at it, cutting off its head and an arm. The third beast he ended with a well-aimed shot of his assault rifle. The weapon spewed bullets, slaying two more. But then a desperate beeping sound told Scott that the ammunition was gone. Clenching his teeth, Reyes hit the next monster with the barrel, throwing it off balance, and then used his blade to finish it off.

Scott observed him in silence, awed. He’d seen Reyes in battle before, but only during a shootout, never like this, so physical. Like some ancient warrior, Reyes fought with the omni-blade, each blow deadly and dealt with the grace of someone used to dancing with death.

Reyes was amazing, but the monsters kept coming. He fought two at once, then three and four, barely staying alive.

“Scott!” he yelled, wanting his attention. No, not attention. Wanting his help. Scott knew that, knew that he held Reyes’ life in his hands. But he couldn’t do anything. He just stared helplessly as the monsters surrounded the love of his life. Reyes fought as best he could, but there were just too many of them. He would succumb to them, it was just a matter of time. “Scott, dammit!”

Scott thought of the moment back in that cave when he shot at Reyes, a spray of blood erupting from his breached shoulder. He thought of the cuts, of the bruises, of the light fading from Reyes’ eyes as he died in his arms on the streets of Silent Hill. 

No. No, no, no.

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

No.

_No._

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

It just happened. Scott didn’t even know how. No conscious effort on his part seemed to guide his hand towards the pistol.

The monsters surrounding Reyes perished one by one, their twitching heads exploding in a mass of gooey brains and chipped bones, their bodies collapsing in on themselves. Reyes turned his head towards him, taken aback. Scott, no less surprised, stared at his hand holding the gun. Something seemed to have clicked in his mind, some kind of switch had been pulled, some trigger had been squeezed.

Reyes shook the stupefaction off first. Not wasting precious time, he sprang back into action, his omni-blade cutting down two more monsters. And Scott was right there at his side. Without biotics, but with steady aim and his father’s knife in his hand. Scott screamed, a vengeful battle cry arising from deep within his gut, and he slashed furiously at another monster. First came its chest and then its throat, the serrated metal ending its miserable life. The fight consumed Scott to the fullest. His mind was clear, his movements swift and measured as he avoided blows and gave out his own readily. The familiar hum of adrenaline, the best kind, filled his veins. Finally, he could fight again to protect someone he loved instead of running away like a coward to shield his own worthless life. The dull pain in his injured arm ignored and forgotten, he threw everything he had into the battle.

So did Reyes, the god of war incarnate. He fought with skill and finesse, a true master of the killing art.

There was no one left standing but them, two panting, blood-soaked figures regarding each other with the understanding that can only be forged on a battlefield. Something they shared once in the past, throwing themselves headfirst into danger and knowing the other had their back. Some of that bond had been rekindled, Scott thought.

The shadow of Reyes’ signature crooked smile that flicked over his lips could perhaps give him some hope for that. Even if it was gone even quicker than it appeared.

“Move!” Reyes urged, punching him lightly on the shoulder. “More are coming. We need to get out of here.”

Scott agreed with a curt nod. Time for words would come later. Reyes started running in the opposite direction and Scott followed, leaving the showers behind. Even though he was so used to being the leader, it felt natural to fall under Reyes’ command. It was clear that Reyes knew what he was doing. A welcome change for Scott, who so far had just been going with the flow and stumbling all the way. Maybe together they had a chance to escape from this hell. Maybe it was Reyes who would save him in the end, not the other way around. Strangely, Scott was okay with that. He was okay with anything as long as he had him back. Even if only as a brother in arms.

Scott ran together with Reyes through the gray corridors of the prison. There was something unnatural, deeply disturbing about this place. Much bigger than it should be, much more convoluted, like some kind of twisted labyrinth. Endless. Or maybe looping without them even realizing what was going on. But even so, the noises made by the monsters started to fade away and after a few more corridors even the static from his omni-tool disappeared. Reyes didn’t stop, though, and Scott was hard on his heels, no matter the stinging in his side and burning in his lungs. Only after they reached another section of the prison, and Reyes pulled the lever to close a sturdy gate behind them, were they granted a moment of respite.

Reyes leaned against the wall, struggling to catch his breath, and Scott did the same on the opposite side. Neither of them said anything, both wheezing and wiping the sweat from their foreheads. Scott felt the dull soreness around his neck from the noose and a sharper pain in his forearm. Had his stitches reopened? Or maybe – far more worrying – the infection was starting to gnaw at his flesh? He needed to take a look at the cut and change the bandage. Did they have some kind of hospital here? Raiding a medical cabinet seemed like something he should do sooner rather than later.

Reyes, as usual, was able to read his mind. And if not mind, then at least his body language and every grimace on his face.

“You were injured before,” he observed. There was no point in trying to conceal the truth.

“Yes,” Scott said and waved it off tiredly, as if it was nothing, as if it wasn’t his own father that had left the cut, wanting to kill him. “Got into a fight. Slash on my arm. Might be infected. Had to crawl through the sewers to get here.”

And watch Reyes die in his arms.

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

_No more._

Reyes’ voice, the real Reyes’ voice, pulled him back to reality. Or whatever this was. He couldn’t tell anymore what was real and what was not, locked in this perpetual nightmare.

“On our way out we should make a pit stop at the hospital ward. They should have some antibiotics there.”

Scott didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded. Was Reyes concerned about him or did he just want to ensure that his backup was combat worthy? No matter. What mattered was survival. And escape.

Reyes started walking and Scott followed again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The music for this chapter: [ Silent Hill - Love Psalm](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0spJmIm8hlo). There's a special place for Silent Hill music in my cold, dead heart.
> 
> _so we rewrite our lives but it's not what we think_   
>  _in the chaos we dance as we stand on the brink_   
>  _always one change away from making ourselves complete_   
>  _the world will perish in flames and I'll watch_   
>  _as you fade from me..._


	12. Bonds Between Us

 

Scott didn’t even try to keep track of all the corridors they traversed. There were just too many of them and they all looked the same. His own terrain orientation was pretty good but without SAM’s help it was simply impossible to figure out where they were going. Reyes’ face didn’t betray even a hint of doubt, but he too surely had very little, if any, idea what was next. All they could do was walk and walk and hope against all hope that they would find what they were looking for, eventually. The exit from this hell.

At least the monsters weren’t here anymore. Scott’s omni-tool remained deathly silent and they didn’t see or hear anything save for the steady rhythm of their marching feet.

After a solid twenty minutes of wandering through the gray, both Scott’s legs and his mind reaching a point of uncomfortable numbness, they found themselves at a crossroads. In itself, this fact wasn’t anything new, since they’d encountered many of those before, but this time a sign disturbed the sameness of the concrete walls. The arrow pointing to the right was marked as ‘Solitary Confinement.’ Even in a normal prison that was hardly a place where anyone wanted to be, let alone here, among the horrors of Silent Hill. The arrow to the left promised a ‘Hospital Ward.’

The choice was easy. Reyes glanced in his direction as if to check that he was still there, then turned left without saying anything. He didn’t have to—it was obvious what they should do, what was the most sensible course of action. Even so, Scott would welcome a little more interaction, a little more contact, a little more warmth.

How much he would give up, how much he’d sacrifice just to see the playful spark once again lighting up those golden eyes.

So far there was no one but them in this part of the building, but Reyes remained vigilant. His body was tensed, alert, ready to spring to action in a matter of milliseconds. His finger never trailed far from the trigger of his spare pistol. The empty assault rifle hung uselessly over his shoulder. Scott tried to keep up and be watchful as well, just in case. Thanks to his tiredness, he wasn’t doing a terribly great job at it though. If Reyes noticed his ineffectuality, he didn’t comment on it.

The hospital ward was closer than Scott anticipated. Just one long corridor and its shorter extension to the right and there it was – a plain wooden door with glass panes and a ‘Hospital Ward’ sign above it.

Reyes gave Scott a sharp ‘be prepared for the worst’ look and kicked the door open, weapon armed and ready to kill. Scott right at his side, they entered, doing a sweep of the place like members of the same strike force, efficient and deadly. A part of Scott’s brain summoned the memories of the two of them dealing with all the problems Kadara had to offer. Back then, of course, Scott had biotics at his disposal, hardly needing to bother with a gun. Now he felt crippled, even more so with the injury to his arm. But he couldn’t allow himself any weakness, not again. No matter what, he’d do his best. This time he wouldn’t panic or hesitate when Reyes needed him. This time he wouldn’t freeze but would instead always watch his back like a partner should.

This time he wouldn’t shoot him in the back.

All their caution was unnecessary in the end, as there were no adversaries to be seen. Reyes relaxed slightly and so did Scott, both lowering their guns. A quick thought flicked through Scott’s mind that perhaps Reyes had started to trust him a little more. That thought was… comforting, but Scott chose not to hold onto it too tightly. Nothing worse than false hope.

Scott looked around and took in all the details of their surroundings without his previous tunnel vision on the lookout for monsters and danger.

The hospital ward turned out to be one big, dimly-lit rectangular room that brought to mind a sinister nineteenth century asylum. The small, barred windows covered with dust barely allowed any light in, only reinforcing that impression, as did the drab walls adorned with chipped, sickly yellow tiles. The ward housed about twenty empty beds without so much as a curtain between any of them. The mattresses looked thin and uncomfortable and their sheets bore dry stains of colors corresponding to all kinds of bodily fluids. Scott crinkled his nose with disgust and decided to direct his attention to the large cabinet full of medicines and a messy desk with a rickety chair at the opposite end of the room. Most likely the doctors’ station, where they filled out paperwork and looked after the unfortunates under their care.

Scott exchanged a glance with Reyes. That was enough for the both of them to start walking forward, shoulder to shoulder, stopping only when they reached the cabinet. The glass was so dirty that they could barely make out the shapes of bottles inside. Carefully, Scott opened it and both of them peered inside.

It really felt like a trip into the past, into one of those old period dramas set centuries ago among the horse carriages and noxious factory chimneys rising to the skies. Half of the cabinet was filled with drills, needles and other primitive medical equipment. Most of it was caked with dried gore. Scott felt his skin crawl. The other half was only marginally better. The warped shelves carried with difficulty the weight of dozens of bottles, each made of the same dark brown, opaque glass and each with a musty card naming the substance inside. Below, on the very bottom of the cabinet, stood an ancient box with a red cross painted on it.

Scott scanned a few of the tags from the bottles, but none of the names were remotely familiar. He had no idea what those substances were, let alone what kind of effect they could have on the human body. For all he knew, they might all be poisonous. He wouldn’t expect anything else from Silent Hill.

“This one is penicillin,” Reyes, who had also been pouring over the labels, said as he pointed to one of the bottles in the back.

Penicillin. Good. Antibiotic then. Something he could definitely use. It was doubtful that they’d be able to find anything better here. This town apparently had never even heard about medi-gel or similarly advanced developments in the fields of medicine.

“Has to do,” Scott sighed, picking up the bottle. It felt quite heavy. He gave it a little shake, hearing a promising rattle inside. Must be almost full. Good. Maybe he could take it with him and swallow a pill every few hours or so, just to be sure. After everything he went through in the sewers, one dosage surely wouldn’t be enough.

Scott flinched, his stomach churning at the memory of the icy, filthy water pouring down his gullet.

“Scott?” Reyes raised an eyebrow at him.

“It’s nothing.” He swallowed the bile, gripping the cabinet door so hard that the wood creaked. Scott took a few deep breaths, calming himself down. He couldn’t lose it right now, he wouldn’t. The sewers were long gone, he survived. Now he just needed a few pills to erase them from his body forever.

With resolve, Scott unscrewed the lid from the bottle and shook one of the pills onto the palm of his hand.

Except it wasn’t a pill.

A big cockroach landed on Scott’s skin and skittered up to his wrist, aiming to slide under the sleeve of his shirt.

Scott screamed, jerking the insect off his body. He dropped the bottle. It crashed against the floor, shattering into tiny pieces. Bugs scattered away from the glassy remnants, a whole horde of black and brown limbs and antennae, dozens of them, some a few inches long, some smaller than a speck of dust, all frantically escaping their former prison. Scott jumped back, horrified, nearly knocking the chair over. He scratched at his hand in a frenzy, still feeling the touch of hairy legs running along it. Even Reyes, the master of his nerves, seemed rattled, moving away from the bottle and the onslaught.

“Well, fuck,” he commented when the bugs had dispersed, disappearing under the filthy beds. He looked Scott over as if trying to assess whether he was holding it together. Scott hoped that what guided him was not solely practicality but a bit of compassion as well. “Should we try the first aid kit?”

That was the last thing Scott wanted to do. His throbbing arm reminded him that they hardly had any choice in the matter.

“Bring it on,” he decided, forcing himself to stop driving his fingernails hard into his skin. He felt so unclean, he needed to take a bath in bleach.

Warily, Reyes took out the box from the cabinet and placed it on the desk on top of some old medical reports. Scott kept his distance and only peered from afar, dreading what kind of horror might be locked inside.

“Okay.” Reyes ran a hand through his hair and licked his lips. Despite his obvious uneasiness, he didn’t falter. “On the count of three. One… Two… Three!”

He flung the lid open, recoiling on instinct.

This time paranoia didn’t pay off. Inside was nothing but the standard equipment – clean bandages, peroxide, thread and needle. No medicines though. Of course.

“I guess it’s better than nothing,” Scott said and sat down on the rickety chair, the box in front of him. But instead of digging right into it, he looked up at Reyes, at his battle worn, but not any less determined, face. “You have some scratches and cuts yourself. Clean them up.”

Reyes shook his head.

“I’m fine, it’s nothing. And get down to it, we don’t have much time. Who knows when those monsters will attack us again.”

Scott had to agree. So far this part of the prison seemed relatively peaceful, but that didn’t mean anything in Silent Hill. They shouldn’t linger.

Carefully, Scott started to roll up his sleeve. The sharp pain in his arm made him grit his teeth to stop a moan that left his throat anyway. Despite the soreness, the bandage seemed in a better state than he’d expected. Just a little blood here and there, could be much worse. What really mattered, though, was the wound it covered. Trying not to aggravate the injury any further, Scott slowly unwrapped the fabric.

He stared at his exposed forearm, a grim expression painted on his face. Even a complete medical dilettante like him could tell that there was something wrong. The stitches held for the most part, but the flesh around them was swollen and reddened, in some places even taking on a purplish-greenish hue. Green, just like the color of the sewers and the poison coursing through them.

Reyes, having stared at him all this time, said nothing. He simply turned around and started browsing through the pill bottles once again, perhaps hoping to find some antibiotics after all. Scott felt a wave of gratitude, although the sorry state of his limb had filled him with concern. Above all else, it felt good that Reyes wanted to take care of him, even if just enough not to let him die. It was more than Scott deserved.

There was no sense in delaying any longer so Scott looked into the box to identify the supplies he needed. Upon closer inspection, he was surprised to find a small mirror among the bandages. What it was doing in the med kit, that was beyond him. Acting on some strange impulse, Scott picked it up. In a surface smaller than the palm of his hand he saw his reflection. Pale, tired, hurt, but there was something more in his eyes than residual sadness. A fleeting glimmer of hope. He’d found Reyes and now they both could escape from here, leave Silent Hill behind forever and maybe, just maybe start over. Scott had to believe that it was possible.

The reflection smiled at him. Scott blinked in surprise, thinking that the light played a trick on him.

The image kept smiling, not caring what the original was doing. The same cruel smile he caught a glimpse of in the sewers. But the face in the mirror… it wasn’t his own. Almost, but not entirely. It could be his identical twin except for the eyes, neon green and glowing with a metallic light. The skin on his neck and his face was covered in patches with the same neon-colored tattoos, which resembled integrated circuits, mapping the veins of some kind of machine throughout his body. A biomachine, the fusion of organic and synthetic life, which stared at him with vicious satisfaction.

SAM.

Scott gasped. The mirror flew out of his hand, landing hard on the desk. The force of impact cracked the surface, one serrated line cutting the glass almost in half.

Reyes turned his head towards him, his eyebrow raised questioningly.

“Sorry. Slipped from my fingers,” Scott said, swallowing hard. If Reyes didn’t believe him, he didn’t comment, just got back to his searching.

Scott pinched the bridge of his nose. God, he was so tired. His nerves were in shambles. He needed to get out of this place. But to do that he needed to keep whatever was left of his wits intact. He needed to focus. He needed to survive. And he needed to make sure that Reyes survived as well. At any cost.

Pushing all the worries, all the voices in his head aside, he concentrated fully on what he had to do. Forearm. Peroxide. New bandage. Like a machine programmed to perform a single task, he cleaned the wound, ignoring new surges of pain, and then dressed it as best as he could, using his teeth to tie it up. By the time he finished, Reyes had given up on his search.

“There’s nothing else in here we can safely use,” he said, his expression unreadable. “We should probably try to raid a proper hospital when we get the chance.”

Scott’s lips twitched in a pale smile. He liked the sound of ‘we.’ Whatever that ‘we’ really meant in this moment.

Scott stared at Reyes and the man stared back. Scott’s thoughts began to wander to times long gone when everything had been so much simpler. He remembered their first meeting, the spark, the excitement, the wink that made his heart leap in his chest. He remembered how they fought shoulder to shoulder and vanquished all their enemies, together an unstoppable force of nature. He remembered that first genuine kiss they had on the rooftops as they drank whiskey and shared the reasons why they even boarded the ark to Andromeda in the first place. He remembered their first time in Reyes’ shabby apartment a few weeks later when Scott practically seduced him, melting all Reyes’ defenses and reservations one by one. And he remembered all the other times that followed when nothing mattered but the two of them, forgetting everything else for a few blissful moments. As they laid together basking in the afterglow, Scott could always see a glint of guilt in Reyes’ eyes not entirely masked by all the warmth and affection. He’d always wondered what that could mean. Now he thought he knew, just as he knew why Reyes had been so hesitant to sleep with him in the first place. They both had to carry the burden of their sins and their lies.

Scott wondered if similar thoughts were coursing through Reyes’ mind. Never before had he wished so badly to have a glimpse into his past lover’s head.

Reyes cleared his throat. Whatever he was thinking before, it had been discarded. The moment was gone.

Or was it? As he looked at him, Scott realized that Reyes’ stony expression wasn’t as stony as it initially seemed. He might have even risked saying that there was an echo of past fondness glimmering somewhere behind all his task-oriented indifference.

“Back there with the monsters?” Reyes said suddenly, pulling Scott out of his reverie. “That was some nice shooting. In the end, you did good, Ryder.”

 _You did good, Ryder_.

Scott remembered these exact words uttered in a situation far different than what they had now. Or maybe not that different, not at all. It was their first mission together, when they took down a group of Roekaar who were murdering Milky Way sympathizers in Kadara Port. Just the beginning. Of everything. Of their partnership, of their romance. He remembered Reyes looking at him with interest, attraction, impressed by his battle prowess and quick thinking. Those words, the same ones he’d spoken back then, rolled off his tongue with ease, coupled with the same smile, only now a few shades sadder.

“We make a good team.”

_Careful, I might start to think you like me._

_Would it be so bad?_

_Depends. Don’t be a stranger, Pathfinder._

That wasn’t how the conversation went this time.

“Do we really?” Reyes asked, his tone half serious, but more on the mocking than simply teasing side. “I thought teammates were supposed to listen to one another. And what was that bullshit with the crying monster? I hate to be ‘I told you so’ guy, but I told you so. We should have just walked away, avoid it just like I said.”

Scott knew he was right. That didn’t make him feel any better though. Scolded like a naughty child, not treated seriously enough to warrant a harsher reaction. Really, he would prefer if Reyes yelled at him for a solid hour.

“I just wanted to help,” he said, avoiding his gaze. He didn’t want to mention how much that sniveling, pathetic figure on the ground reminded him of himself. How desperately in need of help he was too.

Reyes didn’t want to hear it anyway.

“So that’s why you shot me in the cave? You wanted to _help_? You saw me as a villain to be killed?”

Always back to this. Scott put his lips into a thin line. How could he answer that? The reasons why he had shot at Reyes kept floating in his mind, all of them incomplete, only small parts of a much bigger truth. He didn’t know why. He didn’t know if he hadn’t thought the decision through or if he had overthought it. It had all happened so fast and he was so full of rage. The ‘whys’ paled in the aftermath of everything that came after.

“I was confused, angry,” he admitted, probably the closest to the truth he had ever come. “You turned out to be someone I didn’t think you were. I felt betrayed.”

“Betrayed?” Reyes tilted his head, raising his voice in what seemed to be genuine incredulity. “You knew who I was from the start,” he insisted. “Granted, perhaps you weren’t aware of the scale, of the magnitude of the things I do, but I never lied to you about who I am. I told you upfront that I was a smuggler, thief, liar and murderer. You saw who I was and you accepted it. You were all too happy to use my connections and skills when it suited you and the Initiative. But then you acted so wronged in your self-righteousness when I chose to act my way and get rid of Kadara’s tyrant for good. If you created some false image of me in your head, if you willingly decided to be blind and deceive yourself, that’s hardly my fault.”

Scott swallowed and looked to the side, not letting his stinging eyes spill any tears.

“Maybe I did. Maybe you’re right and all of this is my fault. I made a mistake. And I regret it every day of my life.”

Reyes said nothing, unmoved, his teeth and fists clenched.

Scott looked at him, doubts taking root in his heart. Maybe he was wrong, more than he’d even realized. Was he stupid, was he naïve in his belief that he should always try and do the right thing? What _was_ the right thing anymore? What was worse in the long run: letting Sloane die or betraying his beloved and nearly causing the downfall of Kadara and of himself?

If he could turn back the clock, would he really save her this time as well? Was all life equally precious? Were all bad deeds equally worthy of condemnation?

“I understand if you’re still angry with me…” Scott started, but Reyes’ exasperated snort cut him off.

“Of course I’m still angry with you! What did you expect? That we could hug it out and everything would be hunky dory?” His words were like lashes, burning more than the rope mark on Scott’s neck. “You fucking took everything from me. Everything! And you shot me in the back like a coward, which makes it even worse.”

“I don’t expect anything from you,” Scott replied, surprising himself with how calm he sounded despite his heart being ground to dust. “I just want you to know that I am truly sorry.”

“Your sorry won’t give me Kadara back or remove the bullet scar from my shoulder.”

They stared at each other in silence, an ocean of hurt and resentment between them. But Scott was actually glad to see Reyes angry. It meant that at least part of him still cared enough to feel some emotions towards him. He’d take rage over indifference any day.

And out of all the stupid things he could say next, Scott chose the worst.

“I love you.”

Reyes just stared at him, blinking owlishly. There were so many conflicting emotions on his face that Scott wasn’t able to identify even half of them.

“You’re fucking insufferable,” Reyes said finally, his golden eyes flashing with fury. He looked as though he was barely stopping himself from pouncing on Scott and starting to throw punches. “Selfish. Impulsive. Childish. Pig-headed. Know-it-all.” He shook his head. Maybe he wanted to add more to the list but gave up. He sighed, his shoulders sagging, his gaze dropping to the floor. As he looked at Scott again his gaze wasn’t antagonistic. Tired, if anything. Resigned. “I don’t know how to feel about you, Scott. I told you before that I don’t hate you, but… I don’t know. Some things are hard to forgive.”

“I…” Scott swallowed hard. Suddenly it became very difficult to breathe. “I understand.”

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

_I should have died, I should have died, I should have died…_

“Hard. Not the same thing as impossible.”

Scott looked up at him in surprise. It lasted only a second but he was pretty sure that he had seen a glimpse of warmth in Reyes’ eyes. Then his gaze became steely, focused again.

“Okay, enough with this chit chat. Let’s get the hell out of here. I’m sick of this dump.”

Scott stood up from the chair and nodded with newly rekindled determination.

“Me too.”

He followed Reyes out of the hospital ward.

Maybe not everything was lost, maybe there was something left between them to salvage. He had to believe that. There was nothing left for him to believe but that.

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter: [Silent Hill - Always on My Mind](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FJtBXW4abRI)
> 
>  
> 
> _Tell... tell me_  
>  _Tell me that your sweet love hasn't died_  
>  _Give... give me_  
>  _One more chance to keep you satisfied_


	13. Depths of Despair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to dedicate this chapter to Sarahbibang. You're in my thoughts and I hope you are doing okay <3
> 
> I'm sorry it took me forever to upload this chapter. I really hope to be better with updates. Please let me know if you're still reading this, all comments really mean a lot.

They marched out of the hospital ward, closing the door behind themselves. The detour wasn’t completely pointless, Scott tried to justify. Changing his bandage had been much needed, even if without the aid of antibiotics it didn’t achieve much aside from somewhat easing his discomfort.

Scott’s practical side couldn’t shake the feeling that in the grand scheme of things they’d wasted time, preoccupied with medicines and minor injuries while they should have been focused on getting the hell out of this place.

That was pure pragmatism speaking within him, just one weak, tiny voice in the howling sea inside his head. His emotional side was more vocal and prominent. For it, the visit to the hospital ward meant more than just a new dressing. That part of him was thankful for the heart-to-heart he and Reyes had. At least Scott knew now where he stood with his ex-lover. Reyes was still angry at him – rightly so – but maybe, just maybe there was still a sliver of a chance for them. Maybe in time the wounds would heal. Once they left Silent Hill, they could plan how to get rid of Sloane and give Reyes the Kadaran throne that always was supposed to be his. And then, after everything was said and done… perhaps they had some kind of future together. Scars and all.

Scott glanced discreetly at Reyes’ face. It didn’t reveal any emotions, didn’t show if their recent confrontation had any effect on him. He was focused and ready for combat. Scott’s betrayal had turned him into a true warrior, for better or for worse.

Scott’s thoughts strayed to another Reyes, the one so broken and mutilated, dying in his arms. Did that really happen? Was it all just part of a dream, an illusion? It felt so unreal now, the memories of holding him, of touching him, fading away like a nightmare at the break of dawn. Everything aside from the man at his side felt unreal, nothing but a cruel mirage formed from the mists of Silent Hill.

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

Reyes’ voice – the real one – pulled him out of this reverie.

“It seems we don’t have much of a choice,” he muttered, displeased. It took Scott a moment to understand what he meant, so absorbed in his thoughts he had been.

They were back at the crossroads. One way lead down the corridor they’d initially come from. The other pointed to the dreaded ‘Solitary Confinement’ part of the complex. Scott looked at the grim expression on Reyes’ face, aiming for the same kind of grudging acceptance. The hospital ward was a dead end, and going back…  Nothing but monsters lurked there. They had to push forward, even if the destination didn’t bode well. Somewhere deeper in the prison had to be a way out and they were bound to find it sooner or later.

“We can do this,” Scott said confidently, unsure if he wanted more to convince Reyes or himself. The hand jerking nervously towards the hilt of his father’s knife was a dead giveaway of his true fear. What could they find in a place called ‘Solitary Confinement?’ Even more monsters? New types of them, even more dangerous? If it came to that, could they really win against these hellish fiends, each one more twisted than the last? Even though his mind was reeling with apprehension, he couldn’t be a coward again, not in front of Reyes. “We just need to be careful.”

“Yes,” Reyes agreed and turned to him, his golden eyes solemn and his frown dissuading Scott from raising any objections. Not that Scott would dare to have any. “And that means I’m in charge and you follow. No stunts like before with the crying monster or you’re on your own. Understood?”

Scott nodded, his throat dry. Doing what Reyes wanted seemed like the best course of action if he ever wanted to see the Nexus again. So far Reyes’ decisions had been correct. Which was far more than Scott could say about his own.

“Good.” Facing no opposition, Reyes pushed on. “Let’s move slowly then and be wary of everything. I don’t want us to walk into an ambush.” Without waiting for some kind of acknowledgement from Scott, Reyes simply started down the corridor, his posture alert and ready for anything. Reyes had never been a soldier, but right now he reminded Scott of a general leading his troops to the final battle. This ominous thought filled him with despair so he chose to abandon it, forcing his legs to go after Reyes.

It wasn’t that hard. Through sheer muscle memory, drilled into him by hours spent training or in the field, his body just kept going obediently despite weariness and doubt, marching on without hesitation. Improvise, adapt and overcome—wasn’t that the military’s motto? The lack of his biotics had been a serious blow – he always relied on his powers, perhaps too much – but even without them he could still be of use, as he had already proven. Under Reyes’ command they had a chance to actually leave Silent Hill alive.

But… what about the others?

“Reyes?” The man didn’t look at him but tilted his head slightly as a sign that he was listening. It encouraged Scott to speak. “Have you… seen anyone here?”

Reyes furrowed his eyebrows. “Aside from you and the monsters? No.”

He shrugged as if there wasn’t much difference between one and the other. It stung, but Scott brushed the hurt away.

“I wasn’t really looking for anyone though, just trying to survive. Why? Do you have anyone particular in mind?”

“Yes.” Scott swallowed, his thoughts transported back to the Tempest. How he wished to be there right now. With Reyes, sitting on the couch in his quarters and sipping good whiskey. “I came here with Jaal and Peebee. We got separated, I don’t know where they are.”

Reyes hummed, a sound between indifference and thoughtfulness. Their fate clearly wasn’t his concern.

“I need to find them,” Scott insisted. He used to care about nothing but finding Reyes. Now Reyes was here with him, safe and sound. Finally, he could start thinking about the rest of the world again. “They’re a part of my team. It’s my fault they’re here.”

The guilt held him tightly in its clutches. No matter what angle he looked at the situation from, everything had happened because of him. His dad’s death, Reyes finding himself in Silent Hill, Jaal and Peebee spirited away by the mist. How could he atone for that? How could he even attempt to fix this mess? How would he be able to look his crew in the eyes if all his efforts turned out to be in vain, only multiplying the hurt?  

“I’m responsible for them, I need to find them.”

Find the people who descended to Hell with him out of loyalty he didn’t deserve.

“You have no idea where they are,” Reyes reminded him. He didn’t have to; Scott knew that perfectly well. “And no clue where to even begin the search.”

Scott said nothing. The way his shoulders slumped was telling enough. Reyes was right, of course. This time he wished he wasn’t.

“Maybe they managed to get out on their own…” he sighed, pretending to mean it. Ashamed.  

“Maybe,” Reyes agreed just to placate and shut him up.

Scott didn’t dare to add anything else. There were so many things he wanted to say to fill the silence between them, but he held his tongue. It felt so much like old times, them walking side by side. Except back then, even in the direst situation, they still found it in themselves to joke and banter. Dangerously close to constant flirting. After everything Reyes must have gone through, Scott couldn’t really blame him for keeping to himself. And for this distance between them – not physical but emotional. And yet Scott clung to the hope that maybe one day things would go back to normal. There was a possibility for that, Reyes had told him as much.

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

Scott would wait as long as it took.

“So what’s the plan?” he asked despite himself, tired of the gray sameness and the tension. “After we leave the prison. We’re searching for a proper hospital like you said?”

Scott could almost see the gears turning in Reyes’ head. A familiar sight, one that nearly caused Scott to throw all caution to the wind and kiss his creased forehead. That would surely earn him nothing but a punch to the gut now.

“No,” Reyes answered, surprising him. His tone was pensive but decisive. He must have really thought this through.

“No?” Scott echoed. “But my injury–” 

“We don’t know what we’ll find in a hospital here, if there’s even one accessible,” he pointed out. “Could be filled with monsters and nothing of use, like the hospital ward. Let’s not waste any more time. Our best chance is to contact your ship and request an extraction. You can get all the medical attention you need there anyway.”

Scott had to admit that the plan made sense. In theory.

“But I can’t contact my ship,” he reminded. “Too much static or something, I can’t get through.”

“In the guard room I found an old map of the town stuck to the wall,” said Reyes. “There’s a radio tower nearby. Maybe we can use it to boost the signal or at least move high enough beyond the reach of the interference.”

A radio tower. Could it work? Scott had no idea. But what other option did they have? He decided to trust Reyes on this. When it came to making plans Reyes had always been far his superior. His intelligence and ability to see the bigger picture made him a formidable opponent. Scott just let his impulses control him, for better or for worse.

“Alright,” he said. “I think I vaguely remember a radio tower on the outskirts of town, just on the edge of the woods. We need to try at least.”

“You _remember_?” Reyes turned to him for a second, frowning. “You’ve been here before?”

Scott clenched his teeth and his fists. “I… yes.”

“Really?” Reyes sounded intrigued. “When?”

“A lifetime ago.”

“Why? How? Where is this place? Why haven’t you said anything before?”

Reyes was full of questions and annoyance, but Scott could offer him so little in return.

“I… I don’t know.”

Reyes let out a long breath. “Tell me at least if it was always so full of monsters.”

“Yes,” Scott replied grimly. “They just looked human at the time.”

Reyes gave him a look but didn’t offer a comment. The conversation died out as each of them got lost in their own thoughts. Scott hoped that Reyes spared him even a fraction of a second during these musings.

The sudden sound of static made them both flinch.

“My omni-tool,” Scott said, stating the obvious. “Monsters.”

Reyes nodded, his grip on the pistol tightening. Carefully, each step measured, they moved forward, expecting the worst. Scott felt a cold droplet of sweat trail down his back. That reminded him how filthy his clothes were, the white fabric marred with grime and the monsters’ gore.

And Reyes’ blood.

Scott shuddered but kept his focus, casting only a brief glance at his companion to make sure that he was really there.

He was. Reyes was here, Reyes was alive. Alive. Here. With him.

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

Scott shook his head. If he kept getting distracted he’d wind up dead. Or worse – be the cause of Reyes’ death. Again.  

They turned the corner. Another closed door with a sign above it. ‘Solitary Confinement.’ Foreboding, even more so with the constant cracking of the omni-tool. Scott licked his chapped lips and looked at Reyes, awaiting orders.

It was so easy to fall under someone else’s command, not to be burdened with responsibility anymore. Yes, Scott could see acutely now, that Alec Ryder should have remained the Pathfinder. His father was so much better at this.

If only he hadn’t saved Scott’s life. Things would have been so different.  

Scott scratched his bandage unconsciously, the image of his father coming at him with a knife still fresh in his mind.

“Scott!” Reyes’ impatient hiss pulled him back to reality. “For fuck’s sake. Concentrate or we’re done.”

“Yes, sorry.”

Reyes glared at him, his self-control nearing its limits. Scott avoided his gaze, ashamed. He was so useless, he felt that burden on his shoulders. Reyes’ deep sigh caught his attention again.

“Listen. I don’t know what we’ll find inside.” Reyes checked his empty assault rifle as if hoping more bullets had appeared there magically. They hadn’t, so he slung the gun back on his shoulder. Then he examined the pistol. A few shots left, but that was it. Not enough to face a horde of monsters again. Still, his expression remained unchanged, painted with the same determination. “Nothing good, that’s a given. Be prepared for the worst. And turn off your omni-tool. We’re gonna try to sneak in.”

Scott nodded, obediently pressing a few buttons to shut the device off. The static ceased. He could distinctly hear their sped-up breathing. And Reyes’ words that followed.

“You’re going in first.”

“Me?” Scott said, surprised.

“Yeah. I’d rather keep an eye on you. Squash your _altruistic_ instincts in the bud if I have to before you get us both killed this time.”

Whatever trust might have bloomed between them, it seemed it wasn’t enough.

Scott walked towards the door, ignoring the fear seeping through his bones. He pressed the handle, pushing the door open, his finger twitching nervously on the trigger.

A dark corridor, not particularly long, with a single light bulb flickering on and off. At the other side was a door, identical to the one he’d just come through. And between them—massive metal doors, dozens of them, melded into the wall. The dreaded cells of solitary confinement.

Scott’s omni-tool went wild, turning itself on. The noise intensified, shrill, grating on his nerves and his sense of hearing. But the static was nothing compared to the sounds that erupted from within the cells, the echo boosting their volume threefold. Screams, but not quite, more like a nearly constant high-pitched howl of agony. The rare pauses were filled not with sucking in air but with wet splashes and scratching on concrete. Scott’s imagination supplied him with the image of someone chucking pieces of raw meat against the walls. Or slamming their body so hard that nothing was left but open wounds and shattered bones.

He felt sick. He took a step back on reflex, breathing in through his mouth, trying to calm down. 

Reyes was fearless. He stepped forward, eyeing the corridor emotionlessly, completely unbothered by the noises. As if nothing mattered but the road ahead of him, nothing but their goal at the end of this long fucked-up journey. Survival.

Scott followed him, keeping close. Reyes’ calm was a stark contrast to the storm raging within him. The closed doors, all the same, metal slabs with small rectangular visors bolted shut, drew him in. He wished it was compassion or at least fear that guided him, that made him swerve towards one of the doors separating him from whatever unfortunate creature was suffering inside. He wished that was it.

But no. All he felt was curiosity. He wanted to see, to know, even if the only result would be him recoiling in disgust and adding another abhorrent sight to the vast array of horrors that would plague his dreams. If he was ever able to sleep again.

How long would he be able to go on like this? Running on nothing but fumes of the fumes of strength and sanity.  

Scott took another step towards one of the doors, the siren’s song of the trapped, wounded being inside pulling him closer. Just a peek, nothing more. One peek and that would be it.

His hand hovered an inch from the bolt when he felt a tug on his arm. Scott turned his head only to find himself face to face with Reyes. The man was scowling, his expression clearly one of warning, as his fingers clenched painfully around Scott’s elbow.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice cold.

“I just–”

“Don’t,” he repeated, tone of voice unaltered, but his grip getting more forceful. Strong enough to leave a bruise. One more instance of proof that Reyes was here, real.

Scott nodded numbly. Reyes tilted his head, indicating that Scott should go. So Scott did, leaving the door and the howling creature behind. Unsure, Scott kept walking, trying to ignore the noises, the smell, the familiar feeling of hopelessness seeping from behind the doors.

That could be him, he thought. A broken person, more animal than human, banging helplessly against the confines of a prison he had erected for himself. Solitary confinement in which he wallowed in the toxic waste of guilt and regret that were burning his flesh and his mind alive. That could have been his lot, that had been his lot, that was his lot.

No, no more. Now, he had Reyes with him. The prison gates of his mind had been kicked open by the determined warrior at his side.

Scott left the other prisoners, the other hims, to rot.

They walked through the hellish corridor, approaching the other side. Another door. Scott looked at Reyes, searching for a sign of approval. Reyes arched his eyebrow, a non-verbal question if Scott was ready.

No, he wasn’t. But they needed to leave this place. They couldn’t linger.

Swallowing hard, Scott pressed the metal bar and opened the door.

The room beyond was dark. Just dark, it seemed, not filled with the tar-like, oppressive presence Scott had encountered before in Silent Hill. Not that it made him feel any more confident.

Not when in the darkness he could hear something.

Breathing. Breathing and muffled hiccups, tiny sobs, as if someone had been crying so hard that they couldn’t find the strength nor tears to go on but pain compelled them to try anyway. The hair raised at the back of Scott’s neck.

He glanced at Reyes. The man’s expression remained unmoved. If he was scared – and that was something Scott had serious doubts about – he didn’t show it even a little.

“We have no choice,” he mouthed, a reminder to Scott, even though Scott knew that better than anyone. There was no choice but to move forward and leave Silent Hill. Only then could their lives begin anew.

Scott wanted to prove that he could control his fear. He took one step inside, but Reyes once again grabbed his arm, forbidding him from going in.

“Wait.”

Scott didn’t debate, not with an order whispered with such urgency. Reyes pushed past him and, without actually entering the room, extended his hand into the darkness, sliding it slowly across the wall, patting around, feeling the concrete surface. Scott heard a click.

With a soft hum the light bulbs flickered to life. So sudden was the illumination that Scott squinted on instinct, averting his gaze. It took him a few seconds to readjust to the brightness. Blinking the dark spots away, he peeked inside.

Another room. A perfect rectangle, a couple of yards wide. Empty, surprisingly. There were no monsters. And no door on the opposite side. The only thing inside was a hole. Deep and dark, rectangular as well, about two yards wide, right in the middle. The quiet sobbing was coming from within.

“What the hell is that?” Reyes walked into the room, tense and ready to fight. Emboldened, Scott went after him, hard on his heels.

They stopped a safe distance from the hole and leaned forward. It was a shaft, pitch black, its walls perfectly straight as if cut or drilled by a human hand. There was no bottom in sight. And yet they could hear the soft noises, the crying coming from below. Eerie. Unsettling. A shiver ran down Scott’s spine and he stepped back.

“Another dead end.” Reyes sighed, frustration clear in his voice. “We actually need to go back and–”

The words were cut short so abruptly that Scott looked at him with confusion. Reyes was staring straight ahead, confused and startled.

“What the fuck?”

Scott turned around, following his gaze. The door, the one they’d used to enter this room, was gone. Vanished. Not a trace remained, just a perfect concrete wall, as if nothing had ever been there.

Scott sucked air into his lungs, which expanded in fear. The vanishing exit, it had happened to him once before. The room with nooses. The room where he lost his naive illusions and almost died. On instinct he scanned the immediate surroundings, half expecting Silent Hill to throw more monstrosities at him. But there was nothing, nothing but the hole in the floor.

Reyes walked towards the wall, touching it gingerly. His fingertips danced across the rough surface. The door was truly gone, its absence wasn’t just a mirage. The way out had evaporated without a trace.

“Fuck!” Reyes kicked the wall. “Fuck this place! I’m so sick of it! It’s fucking with us! Again!”

Scott agreed silently with that sentiment.

“Let’s check if there’s some hidden escape route or something around,” Reyes ordered. Scott knew that their search would be futile but didn’t say anything, not wanting to anger his ex-lover any further. They went over every inch of the room. Just as he expected there was nothing but cold, unfeeling cement. Unbreakable.

That and the gaping hole right in the middle of the room that was getting harder and harder to ignore.

Scott and Reyes exchanged glances. What other choice did they have?

Once more they stood at the edge of the crevice, both kneeling down. Scott pushed a button on his omni-tool, turning on the flashlight. The orange glow reached out into the darkness, unsuccessful in its attempt to breach it. Reyes craned his neck and strained his sight, searching for dents or some other way to descend. The walls were perfectly smooth, no chance of climbing down safely.

Reyes ground his teeth. Determined, he slid the empty assault rifle from his shoulder. He weighed it in his hands and, with a sigh that could only be interpreted as regret, he let it fall into the hole.

With bated breath, both of them listened for a thud, counting the seconds.

Five. Six. Seven. Eight…

Nothing but static and incessant sobbing.

Twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-two…

Static and sobbing.

Fifty-eight. Fifty-nine. Sixty…

“That’s impossible!” Reyes cried out, shaking his head in denial of reality. “It can’t be that deep.” He bit his lip, searching for a logical explanation. As if logic applied to a place like Silent Hill. “Maybe there’s something soft at the bottom to break the fall.”

“Maybe.” Or maybe not. Maybe there was nothing but death waiting in the depths below. Either way, what else could they do? “I’m going to jump inside and see.”

Reyes looked at him with incredulity. “Have you lost your fucking mind, Scott? Tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“You don’t have your biotics anymore,” Reyes pointed out, his irritation growing. “You can’t slow down or fly back up.”

“I know.” Scott swallowed hard. “Do you see another option though?”

“Suicide is not an option!”

“We’re trapped here. Someone has to do something!”

“And that someone is you? Getting yourself killed stupidly?” Reyes’ voice was tart, cutting.

“Better me than you.” Scott shrugged. He meant it with every fiber of his body. Just as he meant the words that followed. “I won’t let you die. Not again.”

“Oh, so it’s okay if _I_ let you die then?”

Scott didn’t know what to say. Maybe there was nothing he could really say. Reyes’ golden eyes burned him, reaching somewhere deep into his soul. Scott averted his gaze.

After a long moment, Reyes sighed.

“You’re planning on doing it anyway, aren’t you?”

“…Yes.”

“You’re so fucking stubborn.” Reyes groaned, exasperated. “And reckless. Just wait a second before plunging to your death. We can figure it out.”

“No, we can’t.”

There was no other way. Silent Hill didn’t work in your favor, he had learnt that by now. In this place there was only suffering.

“Don’t give up, Scott. Fight!”

Scott looked him in the eye. A rush of emotions welled up in his chest.

“I am. I’m fighting for you. Always for you. Until my last breath, only you.” Scott’s voice broke. He took a shaky breath, suddenly overwhelmed. The voices, the thoughts, the memories screamed inside his head.

_The wound, the blood, the sewers, his dad’s knife, waiting for you, the noose, waiting for you, no love but regret, changing, changing, changing the nature of a man, golden eyes fading, waiting for you, lifeless, mist, mist everywhere, broken shards against cold skin, waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting–_

Everything stopped at once when Scott felt a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t want you to die, Scott,” Reyes said softly.

Reyes was a liar, someone who used and abused half-truths and oblique statements to get what he wanted. But right now, Scott truly wanted to believe in the truth of his words.

“I know. We need to take Kadara back. Fight for what is yours. Together.”

Reyes blinked. For a second, he seemed thrown off balance. A heartbeat later and he regained his composure, his eyes lingering on Scott’s. The connection was there, Scott could feel it in his own fluttering heart.  

“Exactly.” Reyes took his hand away and cleared his throat. “If you have to go down that hole, don’t just jump in. Hang off the ledge, it will give you two extra yards. Could be the difference between life and death.”

Scott nodded slowly, thankful for the advice. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. He placed himself at the edge and carefully lowered himself, just as Reyes suggested. He didn’t let go, not immediately.

First, he looked into Reyes’ eyes again, maybe for the last time. He wanted to cherish, to savor their inner glow. How wonderful Reyes was, how beautiful when his features betrayed worry. Sadness. Longing. But strength as well.

“I’m right behind you,” Reyes said.

“I know. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Scott unclenched his fingers and let gravity take him.

Down he fell, sucked into the darkness. With his head up, he watched as Reyes’ silhouette became smaller and smaller until it disappeared almost completely.

Scott fell down ever further, sinking deeper into the darkness. A black tunnel filled with cries of despair, not getting closer but somehow surrounding him, locking him in an invisible cage. Fear gripped his throat, the voices raging inside his head, screaming, sneering, pulling him fully into madness.

Nothing but darkness.

Scott eyes darted left and right, frantic, searching for something, anything to focus on, something to save him.

Nothing but darkness.

Scott yelled, but no sound left his throat.

A thud against a hard surface. Pain in every bone, so fragile and easily shattered. Darkness cradling him, putting out his senses one by one.

Nothing but darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter: [The Evil Within - Long Way Down](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p8iZA9gTvV8)
> 
> _Can't breathe to scream_   
> _Long way down_   
> _Suffocating in this dream_   
> _Long way down_


	14. A Different Kind of Madness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm truly sorry for the delay. Real life sometimes gets in the way. This fic is not abandoned, far from it, and I'm still very determined to finish it. This chapter is quite long so I hope it will be worth the wait.
> 
> As always, big thanks to [captainjennhart](http://captainjennhart.tumblr.com/), you're the best <3

Pain. In his bones, in his guts, in every atom of his body. Not one that overwhelmed, not one that shut down his senses and suppressed even a broken scream that could somewhat ease the strain from escaping his sore throat. No, this pain was different. Dull. In the background, a constant buzzing like the voices in his head. Impossible to forget or ignore. Persistent. Hell-frozen rain drumming against his muscles and joints.

His eyes were closed. The darkness underneath his eyelids seemed soothing, familiar. There was a childish feeling of safety in it — he couldn’t see the world so the world couldn’t seem him either.

He could hear it though. Quiet sobbing all around him, far and close. So close as if coming from within him.

Was he crying too? He couldn’t tell.

Cold floor, hard against his cheek and hip. Smooth. A monolith.

A monolith like the echo of falling tears, like a tornado of voices bouncing off the confines of his skull.

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

Who was waiting for him? Or was it him who waited for someone?

He couldn’t remember.

Who was _he_? Did it even matter?

Monolith. Unity. Stillness of time. Cold floor. Pain. Tears. Voices.

 _Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you_ …

“Scott!” A hushed hiss in his ear.

Scott? Scott, yes. That name. He’d heard it somewhere before.

Monolith. Unity. Stillness of time. Cold floor. Pain. Tears. Voices.

“Scott!”

Scott. He had a feeling he knew him once. What happened to him?

Monolith. Unity. Stillness of time. Cold floor. Pain. Tears. Voices.

“Scott! Snap out of it!” A touch. Fingers coiling around his arm. Pain coming from the outside, not from within. A shock to pierce the monolithic cocoon of sameness.

Me. Myself. I. Scott. _Scott_.  

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

Reyes.

Scott opened his eyes slowly and blinked away the apathy that spilled from his eyes in salty streams. Feeling abnormally light in the head, he propped himself up on his elbow, unentangling himself from the fetal position he had been frozen in.

“Scott.” The grasp on his arm tightened. 

Scott turned his confused gaze towards the whisper. Reyes was here, kneeling right next to him. Scott opened his mouth to speak but Reyes put a finger against his own lips to silence him. The same finger he used to point vaguely around.

The room was big, the standard Silent Hill variety of bare flickering lightbulbs and shabby concrete. It had no furniture but it wasn’t empty, far from it. Dozens of monsters from before, distraught men like that one in the showers, all curled up on the ground several feet apart from each other. Eyes closed, deep in stupor, deep in sleep, only quiet sobbing making their emaciated bodies twitch.

Monolith. Unity. Stillness of time. Cold floor. Pain. Tears. Voices.

Scott had been one of them. Until Reyes woke him up.

He broke out in a cold sweat, unable to breathe for a few seconds.

There were so many questions he could ask. What happened? Were they both at the bottom of the hole? Did Reyes jump here after him? If so why were they both fine, no broken bones or anything? If so why was there no hole in the ceiling? How long was Scott here? Why–

“We need to go. Now,” Reyes mouthed, cutting Scott’s musings short.

In a daze, Scott stared at the monsters one more time. He didn’t feel pity towards them, not anymore. Only fear. If they woke up, it would be all over. Reyes and he wouldn’t stand a chance, they’d be torn to shreds.

Scott moved his eyes from the bodies on the floor to the other side of the room, far away. There. A corridor marked with a green exit sign, its light soothing and inviting. A trap? Most likely. But where else could they go? Towards the infinite walls devoured by darkness? What was left but scraps of hope that they would live to see another day?

Nothing made sense anymore. And yet searching for answers was a luxury he couldn’t afford.

Reyes offered him his hand and Scott took it, heaving himself up.

God, he missed Reyes’ touch so much. He wanted to feel it against his whole body.

Maybe one day, maybe one day, maybe one day…

Until then he’d be waiting for him.

Reyes looked at him and nodded slowly, a question in his golden eyes. Scott nodded back, showing that he was ready. As expected, Reyes went first. Pistol in hand, assault rifle on his back — he’d gotten it back it seemed — he moved forward towards the exit on bent knees, noiseless but fast and deadly. Like a trained Spectre he picked the most optimal route between sleeping monsters, measuring every step. Every now and then he stopped, listening for any sounds of them waking up. Nothing, so far.

Glancing over his shoulder, Reyes gave him a look. A harsh one, a demand to obey. But also an order to survive. Scott hoped Reyes still cared if he lived or died, not only for purely pragmatic reasons.

Scott took a deep, shaky breath and stepped forward, following his commander. The soles of his shoes made no sound, but he feared that the monsters would hear the constant thudding of his heart, smashing violently against his ribcage, dread rushing through his veins so fast, as if the inner river of blood wanted to sweep him away.

Step by step, they both gained ground in a slow but steady approach.

Scott tried not to stare at the monsters, to stay away from temptation and any foolish notions of helping them. It was impossible, he knew. They were dangerous and no longer able to be helped, if they ever had been. And yet…

He let his gaze trail away from the path, focusing on the nearest man, a very picture of desolation and anguish. What happened to him, to all of them? Why were they in such a state? Why did they all have brown hair and a very familiar curve of shoulders, the ears that stuck out a little, the pale skin? Details Scott hadn’t noticed before and wished he hadn’t noticed at all. The resemblance was uncanny. Could Reyes see it too? What did he think about these monsters? Or maybe he saw Scott as nothing more than one of them, a sniveling presence one had to tiptoe around so as not to cause a dangerous outburst?

Scott didn’t know but wanted to find out the answer. He longed to ask Reyes, his gaze fixed on the man’s back. So close and yet so far. Could that distance ever be breached?

He needed to focus. He had to focus.

Too late.

Scott gasped and froze as the tip of his shoe touched one of the sleeping silhouettes.

Reyes whipped his head towards him. His eyes stared at Scott with such intensity, as if he wanted to kill him right on the spot.

Scott was paralyzed. He couldn’t move, waiting for something to happen, sweat trickling down his back. Reyes tensed, his whole stance prepared for a hopeless battle to the death.

They both observed how the monster twitched, let out a strained sob.

Second after second ticked away in painful silence.

Nothing. Nothing happened. Not a sound more, not a twitch beyond that, nothing. The monster remained buried deep in his nightmares, unresponsive.

Scott sighed inwardly. His bones seemed to quiver inside his body, in equal measures of fear and relief. Even Reyes seemed to have relaxed minutely. Their eyes met. Reyes nodded, a curt and sharp gesture. A gesture that said ‘this time you got lucky but don’t fuck this up.’

 _I won’t. Not this time_.

A low, deep groan made them both flinch. In the far corner of the room one of the monsters wailed, lifting his tortured body onto his hands, slowly scrambling to stand up. And all around him, like a forest of withering skeleton branches animated by the wind, the monsters started to rise. Lethargic but unstoppable.

Petrified, Scott just stared, helpless, as the creatures woke from their slumber. Those broken by their grief, now getting ready to snuff out his life.

“Run!” Reyes shouted, already dashing at full speed towards the exit sign.

Scott snapped out of his inertia and ran after him. The door was so close. Just follow the corridor to the end and there it was. Scott sprinted as fast as his tired legs could carry him. Just a little more, a little more, fifty yards. He was hard on Reyes’ heels, hearing the man’s laborious panting.

The monsters shrieked behind them, giving them a chase. Scott’s omni-tool was screeching now, the static so loud that his eardrums felt about to burst.

Through a haze of exhaustion, Scott saw shadows flicker in front of them. He blinked and  they took shape. Monsters. More crying men, twisted and rabid, blocking their way.

Reyes stopped so abruptly that Scott nearly crashed into his back. The man whipped his head back, his gaze feverish as it locked with Scott’s.

They were trapped, monsters circling them, surrounding them from every direction. Left, right, front, back. Scott spun around helplessly like a caged animal. So many monsters, their pathetic faces twisted into an expression of cruel satisfaction that shone through their despair. Saliva dripped down their chins, milky droplets pooling in the caverns of their gaunt chests.

Nowhere to run.

“Reyes…” Scott said, fear clawing at his throat. There was something about these creatures that woke a primal fear in him. His evil doppelgangers, distorted by sorrow. 

Reyes quickly took a step to the side, instinctively pressing his back to Scott’s. A battle stance from the past when they still faced danger together.

Scott risked a quick glance at Reyes, reading in his grim expression how serious the situation truly was. Not a trace of a playful smile in the corner of his lips, not an adventurous glint in his golden eyes. Just clenched jaws, a pulsing vein on his neck and a dark shadow hanging over him.

“Ready for the last stand, Ryder?”

Quips in battle were nothing new to them. Even when the circumstances were dire, they thrived on banter and cheesy one-liners. But back then, Scott had his biotics, his team’s support and Reyes’ unwavering love and loyalty. How little was left of it now?

The line uttered by Reyes had a different energy. Not a game of people fully in control of the situation. No, this was past banter, the will to fight ‘til the bitter end painted across Reyes’ features. And it scared Scott. Because the end was not an option, not after everything they went through.

“We’re not going to die here,” Scott said, gritting his teeth. Yes, he was scared, but not of monsters anymore. There was another fear deep within him, far more prominent. “I won’t watch you die again.”

No more of Reyes getting hurt or dying. Not again. Not in a hallucination, not in a vision, not even in the darkest recesses of his mind. He would fight until his dying breath if it meant saving Reyes.

Reyes looked at him. Whether he believed Scott or thought him to be crazy, it didn’t matter. Right now they were brothers-in-arms, if nothing else. But Reyes nodded briefly, a ghost of a smile passing over his lips. For the first time he regarded Scott with something akin to respect.

“No dying then, if it can be avoided. Let’s kick their asses.”

“Let’s.”

Once more unto the breach. Together.

The monsters let out a collective hiss and threw themselves at their prey. Scott stopped thinking, emptying his head.

His body operated on a much more primordial level, pure instinct and muscle memory. He didn’t even remember the moment he grabbed a knife, its weight comforting in his hand.

Scott slashed and cut at the monsters, the closest one falling at his feet with a cry, its guts spilling onto the concrete, the agony of shrieks and sickening fetor of rotten meat assaulting his senses.

The rhythm of the battle consumed him. Slice, chop, dodge, kick, push, seeing red, adrenaline firing up his veins. Blow after blow, perfect concentration, trying to keep the monsters at a distance, as far from Reyes as possible. 

Not that Reyes needed his protection. From his side, he fought like a devil himself, like a tiger, fierce but graceful. A true killer on the loose, not hesitating even for a second. His omni-blade and pistol in equal usage, perfectly united in the morbid dance of death. There was beauty in destruction and Reyes embodied it perfectly.

For Scott, there was no time, no space, no nothing but the swishing of the knife, splatters of blood and the sweat soaking his clothes, a sheen of moisture glistening on his forehead. Agonized screams of the butchered monsters, thuds of bodies falling down never to stand up again, the whizzing static from the omi-tool, a perfect symphony of death and madness. But as time went on, false notes began to creep into it, tiny mistakes brought about by tiredness. No matter their dedication, or the brute force and fierceness of their blows, the monsters just kept coming.

“We need to break through to the exit!” Scott heard Reyes scream. There was no other way, no other plan, Scott knew. And yet it proved impossible. They pushed towards the door but there was no progress. The more creatures they slain, the more appeared in their place, a never-ending stream of monstrosities.

Reyes fought with the same pace, untiring, efficient, even if frustration was undeniable in his features. Scott felt himself getting more and more fatigued, his arms losing strength and agility. Blows were slower now, missing the targets. Scott stumbled and almost fell, Reyes’ back the only reason he didn’t.

“Ryder?”

“I’m fine,” Scott uttered, out of breath. He wasn’t fine, no. But he fought anyway because the alternative was out of the question. Sweat and blood blurred his vision, which was already faltering due to exertion. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep this up.

As long as he had to, that was the only answer. As long as he could. Save Reyes.

One monster got to his injured arm, its blade-like tongue delving into the wound through the bandage. Scott howled in pain. Another monster cut at his thigh. Scott lost his balance, falling onto his knee. He looked up, the sniggering creatures ready to claw his eyes out.

So this was it. The end. He knew he had to fight but his body felt limp, useless, defeated.

“Reyes, run!” he yelled. A foolish notion. How could Reyes run when they were surrounded? But Scott couldn’t think, exhausted, dying, desperate for his end to mean something.

Time slowed down. With painful clarity, he could observe the monster’s tongue coming at his throat. Weakly, he put out his hand, trying to block. It would be for naught, he knew. There simply wasn’t any energy left in him. Without his biotics, he was nothing.

 _Goodbye. I tried and I failed. I’m weak, unworthy of your love. Forgive me_.

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

The hit didn’t end his life, it didn’t collide with his body as it should have.

Reyes stood in front of him, deflecting the hit with his blade and using the momentum to kill the monster.

“Scott!” he shouted, killing another. Like a demon, he finished two more, and sprang at a third, who as much as dared to come at him. “Get up!”

 _I can’t. I’m sorry_.

“Move! Get up! Fucking get up!” Reyes yelled, furious now, the blows he inflicted on the monsters more frantic, more desperate, as he fought to keep Scott out of harm’s way. “You coward! You weakling! Get up! Get up and fight! Get–”

His voice stopped, cut short, replaced by a pained gasp. A chill like Scott had never felt before filled his heart, stopping it for a few beats. Shell-shocked, he watched in terror.

The monster’s knife-sharp tongue pierced right through Reyes’ chest.

“No!” Scott howled, the anguished cry right from the bottom of his soul.

Everything happened so fast, all in the same moment, it seemed. The creatures let out a triumphant gurgle as the one who got Reyes stepped back, pulling its tongue from the wound with a sickeningly wet sound. Reyes faltered, the weapons slipping from his grasp as he tried to press his palm to the wound, stopping the bleeding. His legs gave way and he fell onto his knees. And then, like a felled tree, he collapsed onto the floor.

“Reyes! Reyes, no!” Scott scrambled to him, slithering in an ever-growing puddle of blood. The monsters were forgotten now, all standing around him like mannequins, completely silent and unmoving. Scott leaned over his lover. His dying lover, Reyes’ outfit quickly absorbing blood. The hole in his chest was large, serrated, see-through. Almost like a bullet wound, right through his lungs. Would it have looked the same if Scott had hit that spot in the cave? Would Reyes have laid in his arms like this, wheezing, his eyes bulging, his mouth frothing with blood-colored bubbles?

“Oh God, oh God, Reyes,” Scott muttered, scared, overwhelmed. His hand shot to Reyes’ chest, covering the wound, trying to somehow staunch the flow of blood. But it was impossible, the gore still seeping through his fingers to the rhythm of Reyes’ slowing heart. Like stopping the ocean with your hand, like trying to outwit death, futile.

Reyes coughed, his lips moving as if he wanted to say something. No words left his throat. Only more wheezing, the terrifying, gut-wrenching sound.

“Reyes, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…” Scott sobbed, but all his regret and repentance couldn’t change anything, couldn’t turn back time.

Reyes’ head lolled to the side, his bloodied mouth opened forever in his last muted scream.

Again, again Scott lost Reyes, again he watched him die, again he was the very reason of his demise. Him, him, him, might have as well have struck the finishing blow himself. Blade or bullet, the end result was the same.

“Reyes…” he whispered, shaking, too dead inside to cry anymore. His fingers twisted into the bloodied fabric of his lover’s clothes, still warm, wanting to get some semblance of a grip on reality. He didn’t know what he was doing, nothing made sense anymore. Reyes died again. Reyes, who fought so hard. Reyes, who was angry enough to still care. Reyes, who would have forgiven him in time. Now gone, just an empty shell.

There was something in Reyes’ pocket, a hidden compartment inside his armor. Scott took it out. Long, warmed by his body heat and by the blood, irregular. A keyring.

But it wasn’t the key that caught Scott’s attention. The monsters. Frozen up to this point, they started twitching again. Their limbs jerked erratically, their foul mouths gaping open, the rumbling sound only boosted by their flapping tongues. They were… laughing. Guffawing, a clear joy of having bested their opponent. Or maybe at seeing the other one grieve.

Scott’s mind was empty, no thoughts, just raw pain. With the love of his life dead at his feet, with the constant static of the omni-tool, with the derisive laughter from the monsters, something broke inside of him.

An air-raid siren pierced through the cacophony, its discordant wailing quick to replace everything else. Scott cried out, but his screaming had no chance to break through the noise. The monsters twitched as they sniggered, standing in place, their vile bodies vibrating with joy at his misery.

Scott stood up, knife in hand. Silent Hill was changing all around him. The concrete turned black, heavy with filth, its dark veins running along the walls and the ceiling. They pulsed along to the flashes of red emergency lights above his head, blinding and sickening, a stroboscopic shimmer of madness.

Anger. There was nothing but anger within. No, not anger. Hate. A blind fury, a stone-cold rebellion ignited inside his heart. At all of these people, all these monsters who laughed, at all of those who took Reyes away from him. They deserved to die, they had to die, they had to fall down, cut by his own hand.

Without warning, Scott lunged at the monster who killed Reyes. The force of impact threw them both onto the floor, Scott landing astride the creature. It spasmed as Scott, bellowing one note of a psychotic fit, drove the knife into its shoulder. Into its chest, into its throat, into its mouth, into its eye, pulling it out of its socket. Blow after blow after blow, blood drenching him, a spraying fountain of death, unable to satiate his madness. Mind empty, Scott just killed, maimed, nothing but destruction and revenge guiding his hand.

He sprung up, his knife colliding with another monster. And another. And another…

A blink, a flash of red light with the siren’s wail, and the monsters flickered in and out of reality, replaced by human beings, ordinary ones, dozens of terrified citizens in Initiative clothing, cowering in fear, gawking at him with wide eyes. A blink, a flash of red light, the siren’s vexatious dirge, the noises, the voices, the red before his eyes.

Human, monster, what difference did it make? Reyes was dead. Humans, monsters, all victims of his rage, nothing but chunks of mutilated meat, guts and blood and marrow, all mixed together, an abstract still life, the twisted art of Silent Hill smeared against the floor and walls.

Scott saw the carnage but it didn’t soothe him, didn’t quench his thirst for vengeance. More blood, more gore, more death, kill, kill, kill. He pressed his splayed hand against the wall, leaving a bloody, smudged imprint as he moved towards another group of monsters.

Kill, kill, kill.

Screams, blood, cuts, human, monsters, everything blended together in a merciless slaughter, in a battle frenzy that commanded him. Scott walked onwards, butchering everyone in his way. There were no monsters anymore, just the good people of Silent Hill ripped apart by Scott’s fury, his knife severing the fragile threads of their lives with sickening pleasure. Just meat, more dead meat he could trample over.

Tripping over mangled bodies, his feet splashing in puddles of blood, Scott marched on towards the white light of the exit, relentless. He didn’t know how many monsters, how many people, he had slain, ten, twenty, a hundred, two, but there were more still. Not a warrior but a butcher, Scott killed them all. Bloodlust boiled in his body, blinding him to anything that wasn’t his next enemy. No thoughts, no sensations, just a twisted desire within him to torch the world, to destroy the people who had taken Reyes from him.

The rage wasn’t subsiding, but his strength was seeping away. His vision was failing him, his tongue tasted nothing but metal, his ears remained deaf, the stillness of death all around him. With his last shred of consciousness, he reached the exit door, opened it and fell through towards freedom.

No more monsters, no more Reyes, no more sanity. Scott passed out.

The siren rang out again.

* * *

“Hey.”

Scott groaned, stirring slightly. His limbs felt heavy, his body tired and worn-out. He didn’t want to open his eyes, the darkness and stillness of his mind giving him a modicum of comfort.

“Hey!”

Scott parted his eyelids. Just a crack, just enough to see that he was lying face down in the dust. He coughed, clearing his throat from some residual powder. Slowly, he heaved himself up, his muscles aching and his joints stiff, and sat down, feeling his head spin. His head pounded, an unpleasant thudding right inside his skull. He felt as if he had slept for a week but without getting any real rest.

He sighed, rubbing his temple, but it didn’t help.

Something was wrong. Many things were, but something exceeded the usual strangeness. At first he couldn’t tell what exactly, but then it hit him. His shirt. Clean, if a little dusty. No blood. No cuts. As if straight from his closet on the Tempest. Surprised, he looked at himself. Yes, his everything was new, spotless. And at his feet – an empty Initiative crate. How…? He didn’t remember washing himself or changing, he didn’t remember anything.

Reyes…

Scott snapped to attention, finally awake enough to take in his surroundings. He was outside, again under the ashen sky. In a prison yard, it seemed. Just a couple of yards from the walls of the building. No door in sight. Did he come from there? But… How?

Reyes…

What happened? Was Reyes dead? The fight in the corridor… The monsters… Humans, guts, blood, Reyes, Reyes, Reyes…

Was that a dream?

He rolled the sleeve of his shirt up. The bandage over the cut his father had left him seemed new, not wrapped up the same as he did in the hospital ward. He touched it, just to feel if the wound was still there. Scott gasped, nearly blacking out. Yes, the pain was there, very real, worse than before.

As real as the keyring that lay heavy in his pocket, and which he now pulled out. The one he got from Reyes’ body. Now he took a proper look at it.

The keyring felt so similar to the one he got before, **The Victim** one, had the same eerie feeling to it, the same amount of blood caking it. Scott did his best to clean it up. There was one key attached to it. A plain-looking one, unremarkable and unmarked. Two pendants hung on the ring.

The first was an ID tag with a small sheet of paper inside, once again covered in Scott’s own cursive, even though he didn’t remember ever writing it. Shaky letters, but somehow resonating with power.

**The Warrior.**

The second pendant was yet again a small metal plaque, a cheap souvenir shop trinket. It depicted a building, massive, four-story, terrifying. The Alchemilla Hospital, the caption said, as if inviting him to go there.

If what had happened was not a dream…?

Reyes… Reyes!

“Reyes!” he cried out, shivers taking hold of his whole body.

“That’s not my name. And it’s rude, you know. Not answering when someone calls you.”

Confused, lost, Scott turned his head to the side. He’d heard that voice before, through the mist of unconsciousness, but paid it no mind. But now…

A child. A small boy with short brown hair and big blue eyes. With a pout on his face, standing right next to Scott, his hands on his hips in a cocky pose. His trousers and a long-sleeved shirt were dirty, as if he had been playing in the dust. No fear, just pure curiosity coupled with indignation at being ignored and not taken seriously painted on his face. A familiar expression, a familiar curve of his lips, a familiar slightly upturned nose.

Scott gasped, his eyes widening. It was like gazing into a mirror that reflected the past.

It was him. He was face to face with six-year-old Scott Ryder.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter: [Illusion by Vnv Nation (Hellblade: Senua’s Sacrifice Ending Song)](https://youtu.be/b9hjH4FMi58). 
> 
>  
> 
> _Please don't go, I want you to stay_  
>  _I'm begging you, please, please don't leave here_  
>  _I don't want you to hate for all the hurt that you feel_  
>  _The world is just illusion trying to change you_


	15. Blood of the Innocent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry for the delay. I'm really trying but sometimes life gets in the way. I'm extremely grateful for all the kudos and comments, they mean the world to me and keep me going. 
> 
> As always, big thanks to my beta, [captainjennhart](http://captainjennhart.tumblr.com/), you're the best <3
> 
> Sarahbibang, I hope you're still reading and enjoying the story <3

Scott froze, completely baffled. So many thoughts coursed through his tortured mind. It couldn’t be real. No. An illusion, another cruel trick of Silent Hill to trample on his sanity. This little kid, little Scott, couldn’t possibly be here. A mirage, just like Reyes who had died twice in his arms.

_Reyes… Are you truly dead? Are you still waiting for me? I don’t know anymore._

“What are you?” Scott asked, clenching his fists to stop them from shaking. “Another monster?”

“Monster?” the kid replied, tilting his head. The pout disappeared, replaced by confusion. “I’m not a monster.”

Scott wanted to scream, wanted to lash out. But a sudden, chilling thought gave him pause, quenched the budding fury and resentment.

_I’m not a monster…_

Wasn’t that the same thing he had said to his father mere seconds before Alec Ryder lunged at him with a knife? And now was he to repeat the same mistake? Turn into a murderer, a tormentor?

Images from before flashed in front of his eyes. Blood and filth covering walls, monsters/humans falling dead, guts and chunks of meat squelching beneath his feet.

Scott swallowed, breaking into a cold sweat. Oh God, oh God, oh God… What the hell happened?

It was too much to process, to reconcile, to handle. Too much. Had he finally snapped? Had he gone insane?

The silence was stretching, broken only by Scott’s ragged breaths. The kid, oblivious, bounced on the heels of his feet, unable to stand still even for a second. Full of energy; Scott used to be the same at that age. Always fidgeting, always running around, always wanting to crawl through one more maintenance shaft on the Citadel to see what awaited at the end.

What happened to him? Where had he lost himself? Was it the moment he shot Reyes or much earlier?

“What’s your name?” the kid asked suddenly, pulling Scott out of his musings.

Should he answer? Should he lie? Why though? None of this made any sense. All Scott knew was that he didn’t want to hurt the boy, illusion or not.

“I’m Scott,” he said finally, carefully gauging the kid’s reaction. Which turned out to be less than favorable.

“You can’t be Scott.” The kid shook his head with adamant conviction. “ _I’m_ Scott.”

It couldn’t actually be _him_. Impossible. Just an illusion, nothing more.

“Some people have the same name, Scotty.”

“No. _I_ am Scott, not you,” the kid insisted, any rational explanation falling on deaf ears. Again, something that Scott remembered from his own childhood. “You need a different name.”

“Like what?”

“Reyes.”

Scott sucked in a lungful of air. In a daze, as if someone had thrown him into an icy cold lake, he was drowning slowly, the half-congealed water closing above his head, the dark abyss coaxing him to let go and embrace the void.

“W-why? Why that name? Why Reyes?” he muttered with listless lips.

The kid shrugged.

“You’ve been calling ‘Reyes! Reyes!’ in your sleep. Like a lot.”

Was he? Maybe he had. Didn’t matter.

“It’s not my name. It’s…” Whose? The lover he had abandoned? His ex-boyfriend whom he had betrayed and shot in the back? “…someone I know.”

Scotty wasn’t even listening. He just stared at him, a crease forming on his forehead. “You look like Reyes.”

“What?” Now that was just ridiculous. “I don’t.” It made no sense, no sense, no sense… “I look nothing like Reyes.”

The kid gave him a pointed look. “The Victim. The Warrior. And more.”

Scott furrowed his eyebrows, disoriented beyond words. “I don’t understand.”

The kid shrugged again, losing interest in the topic. “Hey, do you want to play with me?”

“Play?” A human echo, only capable of repeating the words thrown at him without processing them mentally.

“Mhm. Come with me!” An eager Scotty rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and offered him a hand. As if someone so tiny and frail could really lift up someone as big as Scott.

Scott didn’t move. His eyes fell on the inner side of the kid’s bony arms. On the skin marred with dark lines. A sharpie or a pen, fake cuts running from one side of his wrists to the other. So out of place on someone so young and full of life.  

_Lying on the cold, tiled floor, beaten, aching, hopeless… The cold shard from a broken mirror so comforting against his skin. He pressed it gently to his wrist, not enough to draw blood, but enough to feel the sting. He finally felt something again. Pain beckoned him, tempting him, promising the ultimate release. It would be so easy. One, two slashes and everything would end in an instant. He’d watch blood leave his body and with it all the loneliness and darkness that pooled in his mind and poisoned him, all of that finally gone. Finally gone…_

A cold shiver ran down Scott’s spine, a block of ice forming in his stomach.

That boy, that smiling wide-eyed child would want to kill himself one day.

“How did you get these?” Scott asked, struggling to keep his voice calm.

Scotty glanced at his arms ad shrugged, unbothered.

_I should have died… I should have died… I should have died…_

“Don’t do it. Don’t kill yourself. Promise me that,” Scott whispered, his lips quivering from the heartache he felt.

The child stared at him strangely. There was no sign of understanding on his face. Maybe that was for the best.

“Come on!” Scotty urged him, smacking his lips and jumping up and down impatiently. Scott took his hand. It felt so real. Smaller, without real scars, without callouses from holding a weapon. Scotty still hadn’t grown out of biting his fingernails. Scott looked at his own nails, now broken and hurting from scraping the concrete as he searched for Reyes’ body that Silent Hill took away.

Reyes…

His eyes welled up. He’d lost Reyes so many times now. And it fucking hurt every single time.

“Are you sad?” the child asked, leaning closer, their faces on the same level.

What was he supposed to reply to that?

“Yes.” He told the truth, tired of lying to himself.

“Why?”

Why? Where should he even start?

“I hurt someone I love.”

Scotty nodded sagely, the serious look on his baby face so comically out of place. “Did you say that you’re sorry, Reyes?”

That name again.

“Yes.”

The kid grinned. “So that’s okay. As long as you’re sorry everything will be all right.”

Scott sighed. “I wish it was that simple.”

Another observation met with a complete lack of understanding on the child’s part. Scotty knitted his eyebrows together, clearly working on a solution.

“I can give you a hug if you want.”

Scott looked at his younger self, at those big blue eyes, full of genuine compassion. The same look his mother used to get every time he needed support in his life.

“Yeah,” he said, cold and alone. “I could use a hug.”

Scotty simply threw himself at Scott, not a trace of hesitation, his arms locking around Scott’s neck and hugging him as hard as he could. Some things never changed. Always doing everything with all his heart. Scott hid his face in the short, brown hair. It smelled of artificial strawberries. The shampoo, he still remembered it, in a blue bottle with a red spaceship on the label that promised to turn every shower into an adventure. The scent of childhood, of being carefree, hopeful and safe.

Scott closed his eyes, cuddled with Scotty, and allowed himself a moment of respite, of simply enjoying human touch, that tiny sliver of comfort. God, he needed that.

After a moment, Scotty pulled away. “Can we play now?”

Scott regarded this miniature of himself, so full of light and excitement. Before the world destroyed him, before every heartbreak brought him down.

“Okay. Let’s play.”

Scotty gave out a joyous shriek and dashed across the prison yard, quick like a bullet. Right in the middle, he looked over his shoulder, and seeing that Scott had only just stood up and taken a couple of hesitant steps, he twirled on his heel and ran back towards him at twice the speed.

“Come on, slowpoke!” He grabbed Scott’s hand and tugged at it furiously. Still shell-shocked, Scott let the kid guide him, jogging to keep up with this untamed volcano of energy. He thought briefly about his mother, how he and his sister often forced her to run after them.

He didn’t understand, he couldn’t even begin to compute Silent Hill. None of this was real, none of it could be real. There was no way he could interact with himself from the past. There was no way he could watch Reyes die. Twice. What was it then? A dream? Then why was the pain real? Why did his forearm explode with pain every time he moved his arm, the wound left by his own father and festering after he took a dive into the sewers? Why could he still feel Reyes’ blood on his skin, even though somehow it had all disappeared?

Scott was so tired. Exhausted to his very core. Maybe he deserved it all, maybe there was no other way for him than to plow through this hell, this purgatory, searching for redemption, perhaps in vain. Perhaps without any hope left. But what other choice did he have? The only other escape was to kill himself and as the events had proven, much to his own shame, he wasn’t ready to part with this world, no matter the pain, no matter all his sins.

Or maybe he was dead already? Was this his afterlife? Was he condemned to an eternity of suffering, always haunted by the monsters and by his mistakes?

No. No, he couldn’t think like that, he couldn’t or he would go insane for real. If he hadn’t already.

Scott didn’t know what to think anymore, his thoughts all jumbled together, a sad concoction of hurt, confusion and voices never shutting up.

If he ever found his way out of here… would he ever be the same?

He knew the answer already.

“Here!” Scotty stopped, having dragged him towards a patch of dirt. He let go of his hand, grabbed an abandoned stick and dropped to the ground, getting back to drawing. “Look! Do you think they’re pretty?”

Scott leaned closer, his hands on his knees, focusing on the earth that served as a canvas. Two pictures were already finished, Scotty was working on the third. Two more seemed to be planned, judging by the empty allotted space. The lines, surprisingly skilled for someone so young, formed a very clear image…

Scott gasped, recoiling.

Oh God, oh God, oh God…

Reyes. Three Reyeses, drawn on the ground with uncannily vivid details.

The first Reyes lying on his back with a glassy stare, his guts spilling out, a twisted tangle of intestines slithering from the opening in his stomach. The second Reyes standing tall, his fingers clutching helplessly at the blade that had pierced his chest. The third picture still needed finishing touches but Scott could guess that it depicted a drowning Reyes.

Scott took a shaky breath, just seconds away from losing control. He pressed his hands to his closed eyes, trying to erase those images from his mind.

“You don’t like them?” a tiny voice asked him. Scott shot a glare at the kid, who was dejected by his adverse reaction. But that didn’t matter, not when those pictures were telling — not telling, mocking — the story of his pain and predicted even more to come.

“How could you have drawn them?” Scott asked, bitter. “Those… those monstrosities!”

“Monstrosities?” The kid blinked, puzzled.

“You drew Reyes dead! What else would you call it?”

The corners of Scotty’s mouth tilted down. “But… He’s not dead…”

“No?” Scott almost wanted to laugh, fueled by cynicism and hurt. “No? Then what do you see here, huh?” He pointed to the first picture, the one with the stomach ripped open. He remembered that particular scene, the scene where a beaten up and mutilated Reyes died in his arms. How could the kid know about that? How could the kid know Reyes? But then how could he even exist in the first place? So many questions and no answers, no answers at all.

“He’s playing with tiny snakes,” replied Scotty. His lower lip wobbled a little as if he were close to crying.

Scott stared at him, not knowing what to think, completely taken aback. He glanced at the pictures again, at the horror and the pain, faces twisted in agony. How could the kid not see it? How could he not even be aware of what he had created?

The blind innocence. Something he had been guilty of himself not that long ago.

“And the second picture?” he asked, going for a less confrontational tone. The picture with a blade in the chest, what innocuous explanation could there be for that?

“He’s holding scissors. Wants to cut some flowers. Maybe for you?”

Scott dug his fingernails hard into his hands. He said nothing for a while, afraid that the noise that left his throat would be nothing but a howl.

“And the third?”

“He’s floating in zero g. Mom told me that it’s fun.”

Scott was thrown off balance. Could he blame this child for seeing things the way he did? Not until long ago he was the same. Maybe it didn’t matter in the long run. The person from before Silent Hill didn’t exist anymore.

Something else came to the forefront of his mind. He had met here Reyes twice. But the third picture… and two more…

“Have you seen him?” Scott asked, trying not to give up, not that easily. Third time’s the charm. If Reyes was here he wouldn’t let him die again, no more. They would leave this hell together and never look back.

“Who?”

“Reyes.”

“You?”

“Stop calling me that!” Scott snapped, furious. The kid flinched as if Scott had hit him, fear visible on his face. Scott’s heart sank. No one this young should be afraid of another human being. “I’m sorry,” he said, meaning it, calm and conciliatory. “Reyes is… he’s very important to me. I need to find him. And save him.”

“You love him?” asked the kid, always curious.

Scott swallowed.

“Yes.” He regretted not saying these words of devotion to Reyes while they were still together, back on Kadara. Maybe things would have been different if he had. Maybe Reyes would have trusted him enough to let him know beforehand what he was planning. And revealed who he really was, let him on the secret. If Scott hadn’t shot at him in the cave, where would they be right now? In a steady, happy relationship? Long distance, most likely, since there was no other way, but fulfilling and full of affection anyway? It felt so unreal, so unattainable. It was something Scott craved nonetheless.

The kid bit on his lower lip.

“Do you think that I will find someone to love one day? Mom, Dad and Sara don’t count.”

A shadow of a sad smile flickered over Scott’s worn-out face.

“I’m sure you will. You just can’t give up when things are going bad, everything will be better one day. And once you find that special person, fight for them with all your might. They will be worth it.”

Scotty nodded, as if storing that advice for later. It felt so strange to see that serious look on such a young face. On a face that once belonged to him.

Scott sighed. If he thought about it even a second longer his mind would crash.

“Have you seen him? Have you seen Reyes somewhere here?” he asked.

“Which one?”

Something broke inside Scott. Funny, how there’s always a little more to break.

“The one that is still alive.”

The kid looked to the side, accessing his memory. “Yeah.”

“Where?”

“In the hospital. He seemed nice. Sara and Mom are there too. I don’t know where Dad went.”

The wound on Scott’s forearm pulsed with pain, a reminder of what had occurred between him and his dad. He decided not to tell Scotty the truth. That would be nothing but cruel. Or maybe he was too much of a coward to tell the kid that he had killed his father.

“Is Sara visiting Mom?” They both had spent so much time in hospitals at their mom’s side. It never became easier.

“No.” The boy shook his head. “Sara’s sick.”

The words felt like a punch to the gut.

“What’s wrong with Sara?” he asked, dreading the answer. Was it something connected with the failing of her cryopod? Here, in Silent Hill? In the place where nothing made sense anymore?

“I don’t know. She didn’t say.” The kid shrugged. “But she has a cool wheelchair.”

Scott suspected he wouldn’t get much from him beyond that.

“Why are you here and not with them?” he asked instead.

“I wanted to play outside a bit.” Scotty dropped his gaze to the ground and kicked the dust. “Hospitals are scary…”

“Yes. Yes, they are…”

Scott fell into reverie. It seemed he had no other choice but to go to the hospital. Reyes… Reyes was there. And his family. Sara, his mom. The key he had gotten said as much too, pointing him in that direction. Maybe… Maybe this time everything would be fine? He had to believe that. “Do you know where the hospital is?”

The kid waved his hand, indicating a direction somewhere beyond the concrete wall.

At least Scott knew what to do now. More or less. But he also knew that he couldn’t leave this child behind. His conscience wouldn’t let him. The fact that the kid was still alive and unharmed felt like a small miracle.

“How did you get past all those monsters?”

“Monsters?” Scotty laughed, incredulous. “Monsters are not real, silly!”

Scott didn’t understand. There were many things he didn’t understand, too many to name them.

“Real or not, this is a dangerous place. You shouldn’t be alone. Come with me to the hospital. I can keep you safe.”

“You’ll be my bodyguard?”

“Something like that, yes.”

“Cool!” The kid clapped his hands. “All the important people have a bodyguard. Sara will be so jealous!”

Scott felt a new sliver of anxiety blooming inside his chest. If Sara and his mom were both here, in Silent Hill’s hospital, would they… be themselves? Would they be okay? Would they still… love him? Or would they be like his dad, wanting to hurt him or kill him? If that was the case he wasn’t sure if he’d survive. They meant far too much to him.

But that was worry for later. He had done his fair share of worrying so far, all he could do now was push forward.

“How can we leave this yard?” he asked. The wall was far too high to climb and the barbed wire at the top further complicated things. If he still had his biotics it wouldn’t be a problem, jumping over or destroying it would be hardly something to break sweat over. How he missed his powers. Without them he felt so helpless. But maybe that was the point exactly. Another way to break him.

“There’s a door,” replied the kid. “It’s not far. Let’s go!”

The boy grabbed his hand again and pulled him forward. They walked along the wall, Scotty brisk and jumping up every few steps, the big Scott forcing himself to march on despite his weariness.

It was so hard to believe that this little kid was actually him. He still couldn’t wrap his head around it. How was it possible? How did Silent Hill operate to conjure up all this? And how did Scotty survive on his own while Scott stumbled upon monsters at every turn, barely escaping with his life? So many mysteries. Too many. How long could this last before he was free? Or before he got broken to the point that he truly couldn’t go on?

Scott shook his head. He didn’t want to think about any of that.

“Do you live here?” he asked just to take his mind off all these unwelcome doubts.

“Here? No, silly. I live in a house!” Scotty giggled in true mischievous Ryder fashion. Scott almost smiled.

“No, I meant here, in the area. In Silent Hill.”

“What is Silent Hill?” He furrowed his eyebrows. The confusion seemed genuine; somehow Scott had the feeling the kid wasn’t simply messing with him.

“The place we are now. It’s called Silent Hill.”

“Huh, really?” The boy scratched his head.

“Yes.”

“I never heard that before. Is that a name for the district?”

“A district?” Scott blinked, not following. “A district of what?”

“Of the Citadel. Duh.”

Scott stopped at once, making the kid stop as well.

“The Citadel?” He stared at him, baffled. “I grew up there. Trust me, I know what it looks like. And this? This is definitely not the Citadel.”

“Of course it is! I’ve never been outside the Citadel. I’m not lying!” The kid stomped his foot, offended.

“I’m not accusing you of lying,” Scott said, placating him. “But it’s impossible for this to be the Citadel. For starters, there is no open sky in the Citadel. It’s a space station.”

The little Scott craned his neck, staring up as much as he could. Then he turned to Scott.

“What sky? There is no sky here.” He shook his head. “You’re silly.”

Scott looked up at the dead, ashen veil, miles above his head. Not a fake. Surely.

Surely? Could he be certain of anything now? Could it be possible that the kid saw a different reality than he did? Did they exist in some… different dimensions or something? Was the kid insane?

Was _he_ insane, seeing things that weren’t there? How horrible the implications of that would be. Was he still on the Citadel, a raving lunatic running amok and killing people?

No. That was a spiral downwards. He had to trust his senses because he couldn’t trust anything or anyone else. One day he’d figure out all these mysteries, aided by someone far smarter than him. For now, he had to focus on getting out of here. On finding Reyes. Jaal, Peebee too.

The kid, tired of his inaction, tugged again at his hand, groaning. Scott moved on, his legs on autopilot while his thoughts whirled, drifting aimlessly and without bearing fruits.

He missed having SAM in his head, relying on his advice.

Immediately, he was reminded of his own reflection in the mirror, covered in those green markings and displaying a cruel smile.  

Corrupted SAM, not on his side anymore.

How sad. The only person he could still depend on was himself. His own self who could no longer tell what was real and what was not.

Another item on the list of things he chose to ignore for now. There were so many of them already, far too many. The safest option was to stop thinking and go with the flow. The only way to maintain a little bit of sanity.

The kid pulled him along the wall and after a few minutes – it felt like a few minutes – Scott managed to see the door. It was huge, all iron, somehow taller even than the impenetrable wall. Above the door, strange figures of supplicating angels, their faces concealed by hoods and their wings jet black, held a golden bowl in their joined hands. Unsettling. 

The door was closed, no sign of a lock, a handle or anything else in sight.

“How did you leave before?” Scott asked the child. Scotty bit on the tip of his thumb, uncertain.

“It was always open,” he replied, dismayed. Scott wasn’t exactly surprised. Nothing was ever easy in Silent Hill.

He let go of the child’s hand and stepped closer to the door. Then something happened, right before his very eyes. A stone altar appeared out of thin air maybe ten feet away from the door. On top of it stood a golden bowl, a simple design, looking ancient, as if it had served in some strange cultist activities for centuries. Curious, but also full of misgivings, Scott stepped closer and peered inside.

An impression of a key had been molded into the bottom of the bowl. A small one, with lots of tiny holes. Something had to be poured inside, it seemed. To unlock the mechanism? No doubt it was connected to the gate. A straight golden line painted in the dust ran from the altar to the door.

The very same door on which an inscription had just appeared, the letters formed from the rust and the black veins of filth.

“ _The Blood of the Innocent is the key._ ”

Scott glanced at the child, waiting at his side obediently. He looked into those big blue eyes, so trusting and optimistic, not tainted yet with the darkness of the world. Innocent.

Scott understood what Silent Hill wanted him to do.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter: [Silent Hill 3 - Hometown](https://youtu.be/pyOsyy_nDxU)
> 
>  
> 
> _He spoke of tortured souls_  
>  _So outrageous the toll_  
>  _You can lose all you have_  
>  _He refused to give in to the town that takes all_


	16. Like a Lamb to the Slaughter

The altar, the bowl, _Blood of the Innocent is the Key_.

Scott understood what Silent Hill wanted him to do.

“No,” Scott said to no one and nobody, clenching his fists. “No!” he bellowed, his piercing glare fixed on the dead, ashen sky. “No! Fuck you!” He cursed, not even knowing whom he cursed. The words came from deep within him, layers of hurt, of anger, of helplessness and the abuse he had withstood in Silent Hill. It was a scream for Reyes who died from his injuries, for Reyes who was killed by a monster, for Dad who choked to death, for the vile sewers that nearly claimed his own life, for the pulsing welt on his neck reminding him of his failure, for Jaal and Peebee consumed by the mist, all of that pain rolled into one scream of defiance. “No! I won’t do it! No!”

Scotty stared at him in fear, paralyzed. He didn’t step away, too scared to even twitch, when Scott, his eyes burning with feverish zeal, knelt in front of him and put his hands on the boy’s tensed shoulders.

“I won’t hurt you. I promise,” Scott said through his teeth, every syllable heavy with conviction. “Nothing bad will happen to you.”

Scotty nodded curtly, but it was hard to say whether he believed him or not. The damage was done. That hadn’t been his goal, but Scott had distressed the little boy. It made him feel uneasy. Scott sighed and tried again, calmer.

“I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve any of it,” he said, a tone of sadness in his voice. He needed to protect this child, regardless of the cost. Protect himself, shield his past self from the horrors of Silent Hill. He wrapped his arms around the little boy and lifted him up. “We’ll figure something out, okay? We’ll find Sara. And Mom.”

And Reyes. Whichever Reyes was still waiting for him.

Scotty said nothing. Still terrified, he locked his legs around Scott’s waist, his arms clutching his neck tightly.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” Scott muttered, more to himself than his companion. He said it multiple times, over and over again, as he walked with the child in his arms to the door. Surrounded by the warmth and held close, Scotty seemed to have relaxed a little. Good.

Maybe there was another way to open the door. Perhaps the key that dangled in his pocket would help. For several minutes, Scott inspected every inch of the door, trying to find the lock, a hidden lever or something. But no. Just a perfect metal slab, the hinges too big and sturdy to tear off or kick in. The taunting order to spill the blood of the innocent was still there, somehow even more prominent.

If only he had his biotic powers… Scott tried summoning them again, to no avail. _Figures._

Not defeated yet, Scott returned to the altar, the golden bowl in the middle. Was it possible that the key he had gotten went here? He tried to press it into the indentation, more out of spite than any true hope that it could work — the key had a different shape, that much was obvious even at a glance. Could there be another way? Scott focused on the indentation, his fingertips all over its surface, slowly and methodically rubbing against the key-shaped hole, pressing it, familiarizing himself with the tiny drains. Maybe it didn’t need to be blood? Maybe other liquid would do? He tried spitting into the bowl. Scotty helped him joyously, thinking it must be some kind of game.

The saliva got slurped inside, not a trace left, but nothing happened.

It had to be blood; Scott had known it from the beginning. It always had to be blood, the stolen lifeforce. But maybe it didn’t have to belong to the kid, maybe his own would suffice. He was far from innocent, he was anything but. Blood was blood though, right? Blood of the saint and blood of the sinner looked and smelled exactly the same.

Scott put Scotty on the ground and patted his head in a comforting manner. When he was a kid, he’d liked when his mom did that to him.

“Please, Scotty, turn around for a moment.”

“Why?” the kid asked, always the curious one. And never accepting things just because, without getting a proper explanation. The trait ran in the family, he supposed.

“Because I need to hurt myself and I don’t want you to see it.”

The kid gasped, horrified.

“Why? Why do you need to hurt yourself?”

“I think that’s the only way to open the door. And we need to get out of here. Find Mom and Sara.” He swallowed, hesitant. “And Reyes.”

Scotty, unsure, kicked the dust with the tip of his shoe. He didn’t like the idea, that much was clear.

“What are you going to do?”

Scott debated lying to sugarcoat the ugly truth, but it didn’t seem fair.

“I will… cut myself. Try to pour some blood into the bowl to open the door.”

“That’s awful!”

“Yeah, I know. But I don’t think I have a choice.”

“It’s gonna hurt. A lot.”

“Yeah.” Scott sighed. Ran his hand down his face. “But I’ve had worse. Much worse. I’ll be fine.”

The kid chewed on his lower lip, deep in thought.

“Okay. I don’t wanna look.” He turned around and even pressed his hands to his eyes to cover them. Scott had never liked the sight of blood. Sara had always been more resilient than him. As a kid, if he as much as scraped his knee he was in tears. Sara had barely complained when she broke her arm. She took a lot after their father.

God, he missed her so much. Her sense of humor, her determination, her intelligence. The smarter, the more accomplished of the Ryder twins. How was she? _Where_ was she? Still in a coma on the Nexus or here, in the Alchemilla Hospital, sitting in a wheelchair? Which option was preferable, he couldn’t say.  

Scott shook his head, chasing these deliberations away. It wasn’t the time nor place for fruitless pondering, he had to focus on the task he had to perform.

Haltingly, he took out his father’s knife, weighing it in his hand. No other way than to cut into his body tissue. But where?

The choice was obvious. His left arm was already damaged, weakened. It would be foolish to cripple the one that was fine. And he’d rather avoid slicing at his palms and fingertips. All the gashes, bruises, and broken fingernails hurt plenty already.

With resignation, Scott rolled up his sleeve. For a moment, he just eyed the dressing in silence, reminded of the brief pit stop in the hospital ward with Reyes. Would everything remind him of Reyes now?

The clean bandage had to go. Carefully, Scott untied the knot. Hissing in pain as he tore off the scabs, he unwrapped the fabric and threw it onto his shoulder. Later he’d fasten it up again for lack of better alternatives. Something had to staunch the flow of blood and keep the old injury in check.

The old injury… it didn’t look good. Not good at all. The greenish hue and yellow pus spoke of a nasty infection. The stitches could no longer seal the serrated wound with how swollen it had become. The smell of rotting meat almost made him gag. God… much worse than it used to be. Gangrene? He needed antibiotics, ASAP. Or at least medi-gel for now. But ultimately,  full medical attention was needed and all the medicines Lexi could pump into him to reverse all this. For the first time, Scott wouldn’t whine if she gave him a couple of shots. He wouldn’t object even if she operated on him without anesthesia, too happy to see her again.

The Tempest… where was it now? If only the ship could fly here, just descend straight from the heavens and take them – him and the little one – away from here. They’d point and laugh at the unmoving door.

Not harboring much hope but still deciding it was at least worth a try, Scott switched his omni-tool on and pressed a few buttons.

“Kallo? Suvi?” he said, fumbling with the device to reach them. “Kallo? Suvi? Can you read me?”

Nothing. Not even static.

He tried again. And again, and again before giving up. Hopeless.

There was no escaping the pain. No escaping even more of it.

Scott glanced at Scotty. The kid had looked over his shoulder and gawked through his fingers as Scott attempted to contact the Tempest. Now, as their eyes met, Scotty turned around briskly and shielded his eyes again. Better for him that way. No children should be exposed to violence and misery. No child should be stuck in Silent Hill.

Scott stood by the ceremonial bowl. Every second of delay raised the chances that the fear would get the best of him. He had to be quick. Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself down and stop his hand from shaking, Scott grabbed the knife and wiped it against his shirt. It did nothing, Scott knew that on a subconscious level. The blade was still dirty, caked with dried gore, the bacteria swarming there with abandon. But the simple gesture, the very act of cleaning the dagger, put Scott somewhat at ease. At least he tried not to be stupid.

Scott extended his arm above the bowl. No going back now. One calming breath more and Scott swiped the blade against his flesh, right below the festering wound. His forearm parted, the fresh laceration burning as if his skin caught fire, the blood trickling down, down like a swelling stream. The pus was dripping as well, the vile stains of sickness mixing with red droplets.

Maybe the blood of a sinner had a different quality after all.

He let the blood gather inside, but only enough to fill the indentation of a key at the bottom. Then he pressed the bandage to the wound and, with the help of his teeth, tied it hard again. He squeezed the knot too strongly, the pain almost making him faint. He grit his teeth and endured. Passing out was out of the question now. Not until he and Scotty were safe and sound.  

Scott peered into the bowl and observed with morbid curiosity how the red liquid was consumed by the tiny drains to the last drop. He waited but nothing happened. Stubbornly, he stared at the door, his gaze intense and burning as if he wanted to melt the metal with the power of his mind. It didn’t budge, the reminder about the blood of the innocent still there, mocking him.

“No!” Scott yelled again, anger boiling in his veins. That anger gave him more strength, strength not to put up the white flag just yet. He refused to obey a cruel law.

Maybe he could go back to the prison and find something there to tear down the door? No. The prison had disappeared, the building was no more.

“Come on, kid,” he said, picking the boy back up, not discouraged. “We’re gonna try and find some other exit.”

“There is no other exit,” Scotty muttered into his neck. Scott didn’t listen.

On a crusade against Silent Hill, he went around the yard, checking the wall for any sign of weakness or maybe a concealed trap door. He let his fingers feel the concrete, check it inch by inch.

Scotty, exhausted by everything or maybe just bored, fell asleep in his arms. The kid’s head nestled against Scott’s shoulder, a strand of saliva soaking into Scott’s shirt.

Something tugged at the strings of Scott’s heart. He’d never really thought about being a father. His own ordeal with the man who had brought him into this world discouraged him quite successfully from even considering having children. Of course, he was gay too. Kids would never just happen accidentally and he wasn’t too keen on them entering his life any other way.

And yet now… he understood fatherhood a little better. That overwhelming need to protect, to save. This child… whoever he was — whether it was truly him from the past, or just an illusion to confuse him — he would shield Scotty with his life from the horrors of Silent Hill. Somehow, Scott felt responsible for Scotty. A bond had been forged between the two of them.

A bond nearly as strong as the one between him and Reyes.

But Reyes was gone. Twice. The third Reyes was still here. Maybe.

What was he even thinking about?

Scott reined in his thoughts, as they had meandered far from where he wanted them. Now, finding the exit. He had to concentrate on that.

Meticulously, Scott checked everything, walked around the whole yard until he reached the gate from the other side. His search was futile. Nothing but a high and sturdy wall encircling them. No escape.

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

He was really going mad.

Mad or not, he needed to get out, he needed to get Scotty out of here. Find his family. And Reyes.

With unwavering determination, Scott left the wall and instead walked across the yard, searching for… he wasn’t sure for what. Anything.

Nothing. Even the pictures of the Reyeses were gone. Just dust.

Scott was running out of options. There was one more thing he could try, though.

Desperate and agitated, he returned to the wall. The round had exhausted him but he couldn’t just give up, not when he was fighting for more than his own life. He knelt on the ground, putting Scotty down gently.

The boy woke up, rubbing his eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asked and yawned, not bothering to stifle it.

Yeah, what was he even doing?

“I’m digging us a tunnel.”

To prove it, Scott burrowed into the ground right next to the wall, his aching fingers scratching at the dirt, barely making a dent. The earth was hard, almost impossible to breach. His hands hurt and his skin tore, blood flowing from beneath the broken fingernails.

“I’ll help you!” Scotty offered. Whether he understood how serious the situation was or if he just wanted to have fun, treating it like a game, he squatted down and dabbed at the ground as well, his progress less than mediocre. The brunt of the work rested on Scott’s shoulders.

Tears of pain and frustration trickled down Scott’s grimy face but he kept going, completely lost in the monotonous effort. At his side, Scotty babbled and hummed songs he remembered from his childhood — lullabies and cartoon themes — but he barely paid attention, the notes going in one ear and out the other. His concentration was absolute. Dig, scratch, scoop, an inch more, inch by inch, boring deeper into the ground. He wasn’t sure how time worked anymore, how it warped around him in this place where time had no meaning and no sense. His clothes were drenched in sweat and smeared with blood, his head spun out of control, his muscles ached and spasmed.

Working without break, Scott thought that maybe he could cheat the system, outwit Silent Hill. Maybe he could leave without hurting the child. Because no matter what, he wouldn’t do it. Couldn’t do it. What kind of a person would let a child bleed for them?

Scott cried out when his maimed fingers scraped against a rough, hard surface. Scotty lifted his head and shuffled closer to him, worried.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

Scott didn’t reply. His eyes stinging, he looked into the unimpressive hole he had dug out with so much sacrifice.

And all in vain.

Concrete. A shallow layer of dirt had been thrown over impenetrable concrete. There was no escape from here.

“No!” Scott rasped. He sent the dust flying as he punched the mound, all his fury rolled into that one hit. “No!”

His screams became more and more erratic, like some primal howl released from his tortured soul. He curled up on himself and started crying, a proper wail this time, tears and snot and blood and filth coating his face.

All was lost now. There was no escape, violence the only way forward. Would he die here? Of hunger? Of infection? What would happen to the child? Would someone find them? No, there was no one here, no one. No one, no one…

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

He didn’t know what to do anymore so he let the despair consume him. He cried, and cried, and couldn’t stop.

“Hey… Are you okay?” Scotty’s tiny hand landed on his shoulder in a gesture that was so simple and yet so comforting. Scott remembered how deeply he felt everything as a child. Remembered how depressed he was for weeks when his hamster died or how much Dad’s scathing disapproval always brought him down. Some things didn’t change all that much, he supposed. And now his past was reaching out to him to offer support in the present.

“No. I’m not,” Scott admitted, broken and defeated. The little one cuddled to his side.

“It’s okay to cry, you know?” Scotty said, looking up at him. “Mom always said that crying will make you feel better. And that when you finally stop everything won’t be so horrible anymore.”

Yes, he remembered that. Mom always understood him like no one else. The memory of her made him completely dissolve. He missed her too, so much. So many people had left him. So many people he let down.

Scott wrapped his arms around the kid and held him, letting all his emotions out. The tears prompted by Silent Hill, by everything he had experienced here. His mind was shattered, maybe he’d never recover. Maybe Silent Hill had defeated him. How much could a man stand before it became too much?

How many deaths could he witness, how many could he cause himself, how many injuries could his battered body and fragile mind could take?

Scott didn’t know for how long he cried, but Scotty remained with him all the time, not showing signs of impatience or annoyance. And when the tears dried out, when they ended, a small miracle happened.

Scott did feel better. The warmth of his past self rekindled some hope, gave him a little more strength to keep fighting. And although carrying on would cost them both dearly, not everything was lost yet. Mistakes could be fixed, atoned for. Bad deeds could be rectified as long as the both of them stayed alive.

“Scotty…” he said, his hand carding through the kid’s soft hair. “I hate to do it, but I need to ask you for a favor.”

“Okay,” the boy replied at once in his innocence, not expecting anything bad. Scott would have to destroy that innocence. What moral right had he to do that? None. But if there truly wasn’t any other way… He’d tried. He really did his best. Even if his best wasn’t enough. He’d make it right later. He would take care of this child and make sure that nothing bad happened to him. But now…

As much as it pained him, as much as it left a bittersweet taste in his mouth, he went on.

“You see that bowl, right?” He pointed to the altar. The kid nodded, listening to what Scott had to say. “At the bottom there’s a small hole in the shape of a key, you’ve seen it too. I think… I think that to open the door we need your blood.”

“My… blood?” Scotty gasped, blinking at him owlishly.

“Yes. I think that if we pour a little of your blood into the bowl then the door would open for us. It has to be yours, mine didn’t work.”

“But… it would hurt!” the boy protested, anxious, dread blowing his pupils wide. Scott could hardly fault him for that reaction.

What a merciless bastard he was turning out to be.

“Yes. I would need to cut your arm a little. But it won’t hurt for long, I promise,” he said, meaning it. He wouldn’t let the child suffer, never. “A little sting and then we’ll go to the hospital to take care of it. And there we’ll find Sara. And Mom.” And Reyes, hopefully. If the man was there. If the man was real. If those who he had met before weren’t real. He wasn’t sure what to believe anymore.

“I don’t want to! I don’t want to be hurt!”

Scott felt like crying all over again.

“I know. I don’t want to hurt you either. And if you really don’t want to do it, that’s fine. I won’t force you. But I think that’s the only chance we have. I tried everything I could to find another way out but there just isn’t one. I think only your blood can do it.” Blood of the innocent, of a child. How fucked up it was.

Scotty looked at Scott, his big blue eyes clouded with fear. Scott was scared too, scared of what he had to do. Scared that he was seriously considering harming that child with a knife.

“O-okay…” the boy said finally, his lips quivering. “You can take my blood. And then we’ll find Mom, okay?”

“Yes. We will. I promise.”

Scotty was trusting him, putting his fate into Scott’s hands. How much Scott wanted to avoid it. But Silent Hill left him no alternative, no alternative whatsoever. He leaned towards the little boy and lifted him up again, gathering his tiny frame into his arms. Scotty trembled as Scott carried him towards the bowl.

“You’re very brave, you know,” Scott said, breathlessly. Would he agree to do something like this for a person who was basically a stranger?

Yes… he would. He would, just like this little child he once was. It was all so confusing but it didn’t diminish the hurt, not even one bit. It just felt wrong, on so many levels.

Standing right next to the altar, Scott sighed inwardly. Blood sacrifice. He never thought it would truly come to this.

The kid clung onto him while Scott rolled up his sleeve a little higher. Huh. The sharpie lines weren’t just on the wrists anymore but spread out to the whole arm, a dark, grim net on otherwise milky skin.

And Scott now had to hurt him for real. He felt sick, disgusted with himself.

“I will only cut your arm a little bit, okay?” he said, soothing the terrified child. And himself too. “Just a little bit. We don’t need a lot of blood. It will be over soon, okay? And then we’ll find everyone.”

The kid nodded stiffly, scared out of his wits. Scott was terrified as well, maybe even more.

Delaying it would only make them both slip into panic.

“I’ll do it on the count of three.” Scott held Scotty’s arm right above the bowl. The little one sobbed and pressed his tearstained face into Scott’s neck. Scott felt his heart breaking again, but there was nothing he could do. No other method worked, he kept telling himself. Not that it made any of this better, not even a little bit. Out of all the things Silent Hill made him do this was possibly the worst. He took a deep breath so as not to break down. “One… Two… Three…”

Quickly, wanting to spare him pain, Scott slid the blade along the child’s forearm. Scotty shrieked in pain, the sound clawing at Scott’s soul. A thin red line, maybe two centimeters long, bloated with blood, the heavy droplets falling down into the bowl. Slowly, so slowly, one or two at a time. It would take forever to gather enough. The wound had to be bigger. It seemed like a less cruel option than just letting this sobbing child bleed and bleed. “I’m so sorry,” Scott said and used the blade again.

“No!” the child wailed, the cut larger now, the blood flowing freely. The tears and cries felt like lashes that broke Scott’s spirit. He wasn’t the innocent one, never had he realized that so fully before. How low he had stooped to do what he was doing now, letting this child bleed for Silent Hill.

“No! No! No!” Scotty screamed again, a piercing howl of agony. Alarmed, Scott looked down at his forearm. The sharpie lines weren’t drawn anymore. Each of them were opening, the flesh parting to reveal meat and muscles, delicate veins rupturing one by one. The network of lines became a web of wounds, spreading, deepening. The blood covered the boy, painted red Scott’s clothes, the excess of it pouring down into the bowl. “No!”

“Scotty!” Scott yelled, shocked, panicking. “Oh God, oh God, no!” What could he do? What could he do when the child was slipping out of his numb fingers, disjoined chunks of his body falling at Scott’s feet with a sickening wet sound? Too late, too late now, the lines breaking apart along his whole body, the inhuman screams turning into helpless wheezing. How could he stop the horror? The lines reached Scotty’s head. Parts of the boy’s face were sliding away, one of the big blue eyes sliced in half and falling onto the ground. Part after part, after part — _tap_ , _tap_ , _tap_ against the dirt — screams silenced forever and replaced with the absence of sound, more terrifying than anything that came before.

Scott could only watch with helpless dread. Nothing was left. The child was gone, the blood and the pounds of meat and fragmented bones at his feet the only indication of what had happened. Shell-shocked, Scott stared at the kid’s clothes in his arms. All drenched in gore, but intact, small trousers and a shirt. A pair of shoes lay in a puddle of blood.

No. He couldn’t believe it. It was too horrible to process, his mind couldn’t compute. So much blood, on his face, chest, arms, everywhere.  

Like a dead man standing, Scott could only stare at the blood in the bowl, overflowing from the abundance. Something gurgled in the pipes and the drain absorbed everything slowly, down to the last drop.

And then nothing.

No sounds, no screech of hinges, no movement. The door remained closed.

Something broke inside Scott, the final straw.

The child’s clothes slipped from his grasp. Scott charged towards the gate, screaming in fury.

“You son of a bitch!” he yelled, his red-stained hands, hands of a murderer, banging against the metal. “You fucker! You soulless bastard! I hate you! I hate you! Rot away and die!” Were those screams for Silent Hill? Were they for God? Were they for himself? Scott didn’t care, his slams getting more brutal. Consumed by rage, he didn’t even feel pain as his own skin bruised and broke from the hits, his own blood and the child’s mixing and smearing onto the cold metal.

A click. So sudden that Scott froze on instinct, waiting for retribution. But it didn’t come. He watched in silent stupor as the letters’ shape changed on the door, the blood he left combined with the dark filth and rust.

_The innocence is gone_.

The door opened, parting its wings before him without a sound. Beyond the gate was Silent Hill, as always misty and grim under the dead, ashen sky.

“Fuck you…” he whispered, helpless, deflating, finally registering with a part of his mind the pulsing pain of his bruised limbs. “Fuck you…”

He looked over his shoulder at the abandoned clothes, at the blood and the meat. That sight would stay with him forever, he knew. What remained of a kid who decided to trust him. Another horror added to the mix, another nightmarish scene that would infect his sanity, draining it away. Even if he left Silent Hill somehow, Silent Hill wouldn’t leave him. Not ever. It clung to his mind and soul like a spiderweb, like cancer.

Averting his gaze, Scott wobbled forward past the door. One step after the other, ignoring the pain, teeth gritted so that he would still march on. He was outside now, among the billowy mist. His mind was empty, just like his heart.

He needed to walk, move his legs, get lost in the physical strain. But where to?

Everything pointed to the Alchemilla Hospital. His own wounds in desperate need of treatment, Sara and Mom that the kid – that _he_ – had mentioned, the possibility of meeting Reyes. And he had the hospital key too.

“Fuck you,” Scott hissed, all the hurt curling in his heart and exploding with anger, with defiance. He’d had enough of being toyed with, he was sick and tired of it.

No, he wouldn’t go to the hospital.

Reyes, the other Reyes, the second who died, had a better idea. The radio tower. His only chance to summon the Tempest and get help. Alone, he couldn’t go on, he didn’t have any strength left.

He needed to summon his friends, his crew. Have Lexi patch him up, maybe bring back his biotic powers somehow. Then, with the assistance of scanners, all their resources and proper backup, he could find everyone. Jaal, Peebee. His family. Reyes. This time everything would be different. This time, he’d succeed.

Scott didn’t know where to go. His memories were blurry and the mist made seeing almost impossible. And yet, when he squinted and strained his eyes, he was almost certain that he could make out something in the distance, a shape that looked very much like a mountaintop. As far as he could remember, the radio tower was on the outskirts of town, near the woods. He needed to go in that direction, that was his only chance. Maybe the first sensible decision he had made since coming to Silent Hill. Get help.

So he went, dragging his feet towards the edge of town, hoping that he had chosen the right direction. He felt exhausted. Physically, but mentally as well, even more so. This town had taken its toll on him. Despite the mist and tiredness, he tried to keep his eyes open and his ears focused on every sound that might be a harbinger of his doom. But Silent Hill was quiet, as was his omni-tool. A small blessing. If the monsters appeared now, he would simply give up, just lie down and let them tear him to shreds. There was only so much someone could take, a limited number of fights that could be undertaken before it simply became too much. He had lost the last fight—he gambled with the kid’s life and lost.

The trek was slow, but Scott pushed on. He didn’t think about anything, the numbness taking over his mind. Buildings, street lamps, withered trees passed him by, decaying and in ruin. Nothing but mist outside and inside his body. He felt burned out, destroyed. Perhaps a side effect of killing a part of himself.

Of killing Dad.

Of killing Reyes.

Nothing but mist and regret swirling inside his head. Yes, regret could truly change the nature of a man.

Twenty minutes or twenty hours passed, he couldn’t tell, but finally he noticed a familiar shape emerging from the fog. A metal frame, thirty feet or more, its top somehow visible despite the mist against the background of the sky. A set of metal steps, their best years long behind them, twisted around the construction. Scott didn’t remember seeing them before but at this point he couldn’t trust his memory. Or his thoughts. At least he had found the tower.

What else could he do but climb the stairs, the pain in his muscles the bittersweet proof that he was still alive? He held the handrail tightly, each step taxing on his bruised body. He had to stop every couple of steps to take a breath. What happened to him? At his peak, he’d have been able to run up and down these stairs twice before breaking a sweat. No more. The exhaustion and injuries had sapped his strength. He felt so old, damaged.

He wasn’t sure how long it took, but through sheer determination he reached the top — a small, rectangular room with dirty windows and metal walls. The door was locked. He tugged at the handle with all his strength but it didn’t budge. Thankfully, there was a window nearby, large enough for him to fit through. Scott took his knife and using the tip of the handle, smashed the glass and knocked out the most dangerous remaining shards. With difficulty, he heaved his body up and climbed inside the radio station. A piece of glass nicked his thigh. A minor scratch. Hardly noteworthy with all the injuries already plaguing his body.

Scott found his footing and looked around. The room was dark, the sole lightbulb broken, just enough light getting through the windows to help Scott realize how desolate it was. No one seemed to have been here in a long while. On one side empty lockers and shelves had gathered a thick layer of dust. Along the opposite wall stood an ancient looking machine, which he assumed to be used in radio communication. If he could only turn it on and somehow connect his omni-tool to the tower, boosting the signal. Then… he’d have a chance to contact the Tempest. And then maybe this horror would be over.

Scott went to the console, looking at it intently. He wasn’t an engineer and his technical training was cursory at best but he knew the stakes. Carefully, he blew off dust from various gauges, screens, buttons and levers, giving himself a coughing fit. The machine seemed to be switched off. Only one thing to help with that. Yes, the button here marked as ‘on.’ His heart beating in his throat – so much depended on this – he pressed it hard.

Nothing. One, two, three seconds and nothing but deafening silence and the last shreds of hope dying inside him.

Then the machine whirred to life, its lights turning on one by one on the console. The most beautiful melody.

“Yes. Oh God, yes.” Finally, one thing that went right. He deserved a victory after everything that had happened; the town owed him as much. Not wanting to tempt fate — who knew how long the machine would work — he immediately turned on his omni-tool and tried to establish a connection. It took him a few tries. Determined, he didn’t even think about stopping. Not until he succeeded. A soft ping and the louder hum of the machine told him that he had managed. The omni-tool was on. And able to send a signal. How far, he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t even sure where the hell he was and if the Tempest was in the vicinity. But… no other choice, right?

Scott pressed the button responsible for sending the signal.

“Kallo? Suvi? The Tempest? Can you read me?”

Nothing but silence.

“Kallo? Suvi? Are you there?”

Nothing.

“This is the Pathfinder. Can you hear me?” Desperation was in his voice now, impossible to deny it, words nothing but a whimper.

Nothing.

“Please. Kallo? Suvi? Please. Please. Please, respond. Please, I beg you. I can’t go on. Please…”

“Scott…?”

Scott froze, the response taking him by surprise.

“Kallo?” he asked, hardly daring to hope.

“Scott! Is that really you? Where are you? What happened? We completely lost your signal! All of you!”

“Kallo!” Scott slumped to the ground, his legs unable to carry his weight. He sobbed in relief. Never before was he so happy to hear the salarian’s voice. “I need emergency pick up. It’s urgent. I’ve been separated from Peebee and Jaal, I don’t know where they are. And Reyes…” He paused. What he could say about Reyes? How to convey in a few words all the hurt and pain? “I… I have a lead worth investigating. But first I need medical attention. And back up. Pick me up as soon as you can.”

“What are your coordinates?”

Scott looked at his omni-tool. No help there. Instead of the usual set of numbers only some gibberish was displayed.

“I don’t know. I don’t know where the hell I am, I have no idea what’s going on. All I know is that it’s a town and it’s called Silent Hill. I’m in a radio tower on the outskirts.”

“Silent Hill? Like the research facility?” Suvi chimed in. Good, kind, reliable Suvi.

“Yes! But… it’s a different place. It’s not inside the complex, I don’t think. There’s sky and everything. And mist. And it looks like a town I... I visited once on Earth.”

“Town on Earth?” He could hear the disbelief in Kallo’s voice. Understandable.

“I know. It doesn’t make sense. Maybe the mist is full of drugs, that would explain everything I’ve seen here so far. Please, pick me up. As soon as you can.”

“Are you in danger?” Suvi sounded worried.

“Not at the moment. But yes. There are monsters here. I’m injured and I can’t use my biotics for some reason.”

“Give me a second, Ryder.” Scott listened to a muffled conversation between Suvi and Kallo, some intense tapping on the keyboard in the background. Did they believe him? He hardly believed himself. If someone simply told him about Silent Hill he’d call them delusional. And yet… if this was all just a hallucination, then how had he gotten all these wounds? Everything here left its scars on him. The wound on his forearm, the welt on his neck. No hallucination could do that. He wasn’t sure which explanation he preferred. There was no good way out of it. “Yes,” Kallo’s voice brought him back from the inside of his head. “I’ve found you. We’re on our way, Ryder. Twenty minutes and we’re there. Don’t leave your position.”

“Thank you. Thank you,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’ll be waiting for you here.”

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

Kallo cut the connection. Scott let out a shaky breath, shifting so that his back could rest against the cold surface of the buzzing machine. He pressed his legs to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.  

It was over. Almost. In a few minutes the Tempest would be here to take him away. Lexi would treat his injuries while he talked strategy with Cora and Liam. Maybe the Tempest would be able to scan this hellish place and find where Jaal and Peebee were. And where Reyes was.

Now, they had a chance. Tears streamed down Scott’s face, the aftermath of all the tension and stress. Everything… everything was just too much. He was empty, an empty shell of a man about to be saved. A man about to be saved who couldn’t save anyone else.

A wave of self-loathing and revulsion stronger than physical pain or mental anguish swept over him, almost making him sick. 

The Tempest couldn’t come fast enough.

_Waiting for you, waiting for you, waiting for you…_

Reyes…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter: [Aviators - Streets of Gold](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RLvrTeE7S6A). Just as depressing as this chapter.
> 
> _I've made mistakes that devastated_   
>  _Too many battles lost to tell_   
>  _If I could turn back time to find you_   
>  _I'd find our confidence as well_   
>  _So please forgive the tears and whispers_   
>  _If you are only in my head_   
>  _Sometimes I want to think you're listening_   
>  _When every other voice is dead_   
> 


End file.
